#Austin!elvis angst
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At his mercy.
Rating: 18+ MDNI. You read at your own risk.
Pairing: dom!Austin Butler x shy!girlfriend!reader
Summary: Austin fucks you in his ‘The late late show’ suit.
Warnings: NSFW. SMUT. this is PURE FILTH; age gap; austin is definitely a DOM in this (you can't tell me otherwise); swearing; pet names; fingers sucking; oral (m receiving); size kink; praise kink; austin referring to himself as daddy (just twice); unprotected sex (please wrap it before you tap it); creampie; cockwarming (sorta??).
a/n: English is not my first language, this is the first time I’ve written from Italian to English and after two months of writing and translating this work I really don't know what came out, so please forgive any mistake✨ leave a comment down here and let me know what you think✨
Enjoy!
It's late at night, the lights outside are already out, and the street lamps are the only ones left to light the wet road while everything around is sleeping and waiting for a new day to come. Not a sound, not a noise is bothering the atmosphere outside except for the sweet rustles of trees on the street as a black Range Rover nears the driveway.
Shortly after, the sudden noise of a door opening makes you skip a beat, taking you off-guard and waking you from your sleep. He is back.
Your eyelids open slowly and you instinctively look at the alarm on the nightstand. 1:30 am.
"As usual," you think.
It takes you a little to realize that you fell asleep too early and didn't wait awake for him— as you always do, but you had a very stressful day at college and you couldn't help yourself to give in to the comfy bed beneath you.
So you decide to wait for him to make his way into the bedroom before you can close your eyes again.
You hear him from upstairs while he tosses the keys on the side table at the entrance, then a series of muffled noises follow.
And then, again, silence.
You feel your eyes getting heavy and you know that you'll fall asleep soon. But not without him.
And noticing he's still not gone upstairs yet you decide to get down to him.
You rise from the bed and a breath of wind wraps around your shoulders as soon as the blanket leaves your body, leading you to wear your white satin robe before going downstairs.
Your bare feet meet every cold step unnoticeably, the high temperature difference between the two floors causing you to shrug.
You're searching for him, your eyes are looking at every corner of the living room while waiting to catch his figure until your feet finally touch the ground.
You see him.
Standing in front of the cupboard against the wall, bottle in his hand as he pours himself a large glass of whiskey.
Austin.
He is wearing a navy blue pinstripe suit from Prada that perfectly matches his blue eyes, the jacket left open to reveal a black mesh shirt, half undone and barely covering his toned, tanned chest.
It suits him heavenly.
His eyes look up to meet yours as soon as he feels your presence.
“Hey” he murmurs in a low and raspy voice.
“Hi” you respond and get closer to him, trying to greet him properly.
Seeing you lean in he puts the bottle back in its place and in no time you feel his arm around your waist. Austin lowers his head for his lips to meet yours in a chaste and tender kiss, the first one after an entire day away from each other.
Your hand travels up his spine, reaching the nape of his neck and starting caressing it, your fingers sneaking between his hair gently as you hold yourself closer to his chest. His body is so warm against yours, his warmth filling your heart completely and making you feel safe in the tight grip of his strong arms.
You’ve missed him so much.
The last period has been very exhausting for him, every day passes between interviews, photoshoots and premieres and he's terribly busy, and considering that you too have your things to do with college and all, you're both forced to be apart from each other. But despite all of this, you always try to do your best to support him, following him at the events when possible or watching him on TV, waiting for him until he gets home— like you should've done today too.
Soon your lips move away with a tiny 'pop' and your eyes meet, a shy smile appearing on both of your faces.
“How was your day?” you ask, breaking the silence.
“Great, just a lil tiring” he sighs, caressing your hip gently “have you seen the show?”
You nod without hesitation.
“Of course I did,” a sense of pride overwhelms you seeing him smile slightly at your obviousness “just for you.”
“Really?” he grins, pretending to be surprised as his eyes look down at yours and you nod again.
“Yeah”
“Good girl” he places two of his fingers under your chin, lifting it up for your lips to meet his again in a quick kiss before he pulls away from you and takes the full glass of whiskey in his hand.
You shudder thinking about the pet name.
Good girl...
“And what about you? How was college today?”
Your gaze never leaves him, following each one of his movements while he reaches the couch and takes a seat between the black leather cushions. A shiver runs down your spine, stopping right on your lower stomach. Your mind gets fuzzy, distracting you from his question.
Legs wide apart, broad shoulders resting on the back of the sofa, his right hand on his knee and thigh as the left one brings the edge of the glass towards his mouth, needing a sip. The bitter and yellowish liquid runs down his throat, and his eyes shut just for a second until he swallows it, licking his plump lips after.
You feel yourself throb around nothing at the sight of him manspreading, and your thighs instantly rub together at the thought of every single time you've seen him doing that same thing: eyes closed, lips and tongue wet— not from whiskey.
You don't know why, you don't even know how to explain it to yourself, but seeing him like this sparked something inside you since you saw him on ‘The Late Late Show’ tonight. Something able to keep your mouth shut and your eyes glued to him.
He looks so confident. So dominant. So powerful. Right now, he could move mountains at his pleasure just by lifting a finger if he only wanted to.
And that damn suit... God, you want to sit on his lap so bad.
You'd do it immediately if only you weren't so shy to stand still at your place, merely biting at your lower lip while fantasizing about the mighty man in front of you, a gesture so simple but not enough to go unnoticed— not to him. Not to Austin.
His icy eyes linger on you again and this is the exact moment where you come back to reality and blush.
“What's up?” your awkwardness leads you to open your mouth and talk before you can remember a very important detail.
You still haven't answered his question.
“I asked you” he emphasizes, his tone sharp and deep as he takes in another sip and his tongue runs over his lips to wipe them more slowly and languidly than before, never taking his eyes off of yours “how was college today, angel?”
A mischievous grin appears on his face, the name that always knew how to make your stomach twirl makes you understand everything.
You got caught.
“G-good...” you stutter, coughing slightly as your cheeks are on fire for both arousal and embarrassment in front of that one clear consciousness.
You have a lot on your mind at the moment, a thousand thoughts are running through your head and Austin can read every single one of them.
And you know that he can, you know that he knows what you're thinking about.
Austin knows everything about you.
Because he knows you too well.
He can see from a mile away that something inside you snapped. Your body language is enough to let him know what you want and what you need.
He's tired, the only thing he needs at the moment is to finish his drink, take his clothes off and go to sleep with you, but seeing you wearing nothing but that white silk robe that barely covers your thighs as you bashfully bite your lip, thinking about all the shameless things you want him to do to you, is enough to drive him crazy too.
Because he'll never get enough of you.
He lifts his right hand and two of his fingers gesture you to get close.
“C'mere” his order is like liquid gold for you. You walk towards him without blinking, reaching the couch, stepping in front of him as if you've been waiting to all day.
Austin quickly swallows the last drop of whiskey, leaving the now empty glass on the table before grabbing your wrist and putting you between his spread legs.
His fingers manage to undo the tight bow of your robe, taking it off of you to reveal a lovely black satin nightie under it, one of the many he bought you to make up for the many others he ripped off of your body: soft to the touch, lightweight, with thin stripes and lace hems, short enough to leave your ass exposed.
No doubt that it's his favorite one. You're a goddess in it.
His forefinger traces a line up your thigh and reaches the hem of your nightie, your cheeks reddening as soon as he lifts it up, giving you goosebumps.
Austin feels his cock throb in his pants at the sight.
You aren't wearing panties. As he wished.
“No panties, mh?” you shook your head no, feeling the heat starting to pool right on your bare center and your heart pounding in your chest.
You feel so exposed under his touch, so weak, so small, so vulnerable at the feeling of your skin burning under his lingering hot gaze. Your body is completely at his mercy, poorly covered by that tiny piece of fabric while Austin still has his suit on, fully clothed from head to toe, looking at you like an uncompromising master who's thinking about the right treat for his good submissive. And in the darkest and deepest part of yourself, you're loving it.
You love that he always wants to be in control. You love being controlled by him.
At the moment you just want to follow his rules, please him, worship him, be punished if needed, because you want to be a good girl for him and him only.
“Get on your knees, angel.” and when his order comes, you can do nothing more than obey.
Your knees fall to the floor with a soft thud, hands anchored on his thick thighs as you're face to face with his crotch.
Austin's fingers are under your chin again, a gentle reminder for you to pull your gaze up to his face, forcing you to look straight into his eyes.
His baby blues are darkened, filled with craving and lust as they meet your shy and innocent ones waiting for mercy, for him to choose their fate and what is better for them.
Like an angel at God's feet.
“You're such a good little girl for me, you know this?” his voice gets deeper enough to make you feel soaked as he tucks your hair behind your ear.
“So submissive” he praises you in a whisper, his calloused digits moving to caress your cheek, allowing you to surrender to his touch by resting your head on his thigh.
“So responsive” the intense feeling of the cold gold of his rings hits your warm skin and your spine tingles.
His voice is so soft, yet so firm while he praises you that a weak moan leaves your parted lips, Austin taking advantage of it to shove two of his long fingers in your mouth. You know what to do so you embrace them with no hesitation and start sucking, wrapping your lips and tongue around his knuckles as the metallic taste grows strong in your mouth.
“So greedy...”
You are a vision to him, you look so tempting that his hand falls on his crotch to palm himself, his growing erection begging to be freed from his slacks and swallowed up by your throat.
“Bet your pretty little head's just thinking about one thing since I came home, doesn't it?” you nod frantically, his wet digits still in your mouth before he retracts them.
“Use your words.” authority drips from his tone and you sigh.
“Y-yes...” not enough.
“Yes what, angel?” your head lowers again in front of his request but he holds you still in place, grabbing your jaw “Look at me”
“I...” words get stuck in your throat, too shy to let them slip out easily.
“C'mon, don't be shy. Wanna hear you say it” he spurs “what's on your mind?”
Your heart keeps pounding as never before, and at this point, you don't even know how but you say it.
“I want your cock.”
“And where do you want it, angel?” he smirks as he adjusts himself between the cushions, your thighs clenching together to hide the wetness between them.
You love everything about him and the thing you love most is that he's able to read your mind without talking, but right now it seems like he has forgotten about this ability of his own. And you're hating him for this.
Because you know he's doing it on purpose.
He wants to hear your voice.
He wants to hear you beg.
He wants to hear your innocent mouth tell him the dirty things you want from him, the things he knows that make you feel all small and weak.
For this reason you swallow thickly, and gasping with your heart on your sleeve, you answer.
“In m-my mouth.”
“Then take it.” his words are the only green light you needed to put your shyness aside and leave room for the actions you're going to do in silence.
You reach the fly of his trousers with both hands, unzipping it and slipping between the black fabric of his briefs, freeing his cock.
You take it in your hand, he's already hard as it springs free against his stomach, the contact of your fingers against his weak flesh making him gasp.
You feel him. Long, warm and veiny, the tip already reddened and leaking with precum.
Your mouth waters at the sight. You need to make him feel good so bad.
You sit better on your own thighs, adjusting yourself to avoid the feeling of your knees pressing against the carpet before running your hand along his shaft.
Your strokes are slow and gentle, your fingers applying a small amount of pressure, making him breathe heavily.
“Angel...” he's so eager to feel you, the way his hips are bucking up to meet your strokes is silently proving it. So you decide to indulge him.
You lean forward and your lips start kissing his length from the base to the tip. You tease his slit with your thumb before starting to leave kitten licks on his head, feeling his salty taste exploding on your taste buds.
“Mmm, little one...” a deep groan falls from his lips and goes straight to your soaked center, making you shudder in your place “I love feeling your mouth on my cock...”
He seems so much weaker than before, and a strong sense of power washes over you.
“Fuck...” he swears, adjusting the blonde locks falling on his forehead.
The sensation of your warm mouth around his girth already sending him into a state of pure bliss “I'm not going to last long”.
You take a deep breath through your nose and start sucking, slowly moving your head up and down his cock as far as you can, trying your best to please him. His hand ends behind your head, his fingers holding you close to him as he'd never let you go.
“Yes, baby” he grunts “you feel so good”
Arousal is growing more and more inside of you, your pussy getting wetter as juices start flowing out of you because of hearing him moan.
You feel so bold right now, a sense of euphoria takes over you all of a sudden and makes you grind uncontrollably, searching for friction to ease the ache between your thighs while your head bobs faster around him.
“Yes, just like that, keep going baby...” you do as you're told. You keep sucking, and Austin's grip between your hair tightens.
The cool metal of his rings presses against the nape of your neck, his knuckles turning white and his protruding veins popping out as he applies more pressure to guide your hips at his own pace, making you feel trapped under his grip— under his control.
Right now you're the one giving him pleasure but it doesn't matter. He'll always know how to control you and be in charge.
Your throat is becoming sore and dry, some locks are covering your sweaty forehead and falling on his pubic bone as little tears are forming at the corners of your eyes.
You're a complete mess.
“My pretty little angel- shit, I'm going to fuck your pussy so good” his promise hits you right at your core and a choked moan escapes from your lips, the vibration is so intense against the head of his cock that he jerks frantically.
“Oh god!” his eyebrows furrow, his tight grip around your neck forces you to swallow more of him until he's hitting the back of your throat.
You can't take it anymore. You pull away from him, your fingers never stopping to rub his cock. Your heart is pounding in your chest as you breathe feverishly, searching for air to fill your lungs but Austin is quicker than any move you can make and leans toward your lips.
“Wanna cum inside you.” he tugs you into his mouth hungrily and you moan in both surprise and excitement. You are both panting at the same pace, his tongue slides into your wide-open mouth starting a steamy make-out session where your lips crash between grunts and bite each other without mercy.
Austin moves both his hands on your covered back and you sit up to climb on top of him. Your legs surround his thick thighs and your hands run everywhere on his sweaty chest and around his neck.
“I love you” he breathes on your lips, between heated kisses “so much”
“I love you too, Aus- ah!” his throbbing cock pushes against your soaked folds, making you gasp and jolt. The thrill is too much, you're so desperate that you start grinding against him, searching for friction to stop the hundreds of shocks running down your spine and hitting your womanhood repeatedly.
Your skin burns under his touch. You want him. You need him. You crave him.
And he knows it.
His hand stops on your asscheek, underneath the fabric of your nightie as his teeth keep biting your bottom lip voraciously, his fingers squeezing your flesh before grasping the hem of your nightie.
Austin takes it off of you and tosses it to the side.
Now you're fully naked on his lap, your breasts are pressed against his half-covered chest and your stomach shakes at the sensation of being so exposed while he's overdressed.
He leans forward a bit enough to bring his hands behind his back and take off his jacket.
“No!” your voice leaves your throat in a worried shriek, bringing out a primal emotion hidden in the deepest part of you.
Austin halts and looks you in the eyes, urging you to give him reasons. You blush.
You can't run away.
“L-leave it on...” you swallow thickly, hair falling on your face, hiding your awkwardness from him. Right now you're ashamed to death for this implied confession and his silence is not helping to ease your feeling.
He simply keeps staring at you, with those damned eyes that know how to make you melt, and without saying a word he kisses you again.
His tongue hungrily pushes itself into your mouth, giving you goosebumps as his fingers slide down straight between your folds, coating in your juices.
Now he can feel it.
“Fuck, you're dripping” his touch is so slight and lasts only for a moment, making you moan against his lips "all this wet just for sucking daddy's cock and seeing him in this suit, mh?"
“Please, Aus...”
“Who knew a stupid suit would make my little girl so eager?”
You don't answer and your shyness seems to no longer exist.
You just keep grinding against him, more desperate than ever while his tip rubs against your throbbing clit; he grasps his cock with his hand, adjusting himself on the couch and lining up with your slit, teasing it as your heart aches in eagerness and you can do nothing more than keep begging him shamelessly.
Hearing you beg is making him crazy, he swears he could stand still for hours only to hear you beg with your tear-filled eyes, but right now he just wants you too much to do it.
“Please, I need you”
You don't need to say anything else. His tip pushes inside your cunt and right after he grips your waist forcefully. His entire length slides inside you slowly, your mouth curving in a perfect 'o' from which nothing comes out as you pull away from his lips. Your breath hitches as he makes you sink onto him until you feel his pubic bone hitting against your swollen clit.
You're stuck, unable to breathe. You squeeze your eyes shout and cry out.
“Oh!” you feel so full. Full of him.
He gives you a few seconds to get used to his presence inside you and a heavy breath releases from his chest.
“Shit, you're so tight” he curses under his breath, bottom lip between his sparkling teeth and eyes closed for pleasure.
And then he starts guiding you onto him and you let yourself get carried by his hands, feeble like jelly as you meet his thrusts, moving slowly, moaning weakly.
“Aus” you whimper, each one of your moves against him only stretching you open more.
“Shh angel, you can handle it” he coos softly in your ear, leaving sweet kisses behind your lobe, helping you to ease the pain.
Your thighs are trembling as they wrap around his and your fingers slide between his blonde locks, trying to hold him closer than ever.
From this position, you can feel him completely. Every inch, curve, vein, and single part of him is inside you to the brim and is filling you perfectly with a combination of pain and pleasure that only Austin can give you.
You open your eyes and look at him. He's already staring at you and now your gazes lock together, making you both feel more connected with your soul than just your bodies and skin.
Your breaths mingle, your lips only a few inches distant from each other and ready to touch again with each thrust.
“You're taking me so well” he murmurs.
His forehead is sweaty, his lips are plump and red like yours, his jaw clenching as he watches you fall apart on his cock and babble something in response before moaning, struggling to take him.
You feel that familiar coil growing in you, your walls clench around his girth and you feel the base of your stomach burn every time his tip caresses your cervix.
It's too much for you. You stop, ready to surrender to his touch, but Austin holds you in place.
“Ah-ah. Stay still, pretty girl.” his fingers force you to sit straight, impaling you more and more on his cock.
“I-i can't...”
“C'mon little one, don't be a brat” he warns you as he starts guiding your hips again, with slow but intense strokes, the stimulation leading a whine to escape your lips before you stop again.
“Hmmph... t-too much...” you babble, it's the only thing you're barely able to say. You can't even talk.
It's so good, you just wish you had the strength to ride him faster but his cock's hitting you so deep you swear you could die in his arms.
Suddenly something draws his attention and forces him to look down.
You feel his hand press on your belly and you gasp in surprise. So you lower your head as well and see the outline of his cock poking out of your stomach.
The vision makes his cock twitch and your walls squeeze around him. He's in your guts.
“God, you look so hot like this” his gaze is burning on your skin, and you can say he definitely loves the sight in front of him. His pupils are dilated, and his breath is getting heavier. He's addicted “Small, desperate, and full of my cock”
You moan hard, turned on by his words and seeing how much he's going deep inside you with every stroke.
“‘s so deep inside you, uh?” he mocks you, his thumb rubbing your tummy as your eyes meet each other again.
“Y-yes! S-so deep” hearing your voice cracked and desperate leads him to one conclusion.
“Think you need daddy's help” suddenly his grip on your flesh tightens and with no warning he pushes you down onto him brutally, slamming his cock into you, bucking his hips upwards to start thrusting deeper, harder.
In a matter of seconds, your nails dig into the back of his hands and you scream, tilting your head back in pleasure.
“Aus- oh, god!” you moan louder, your mouth wide open as ecstasy takes over you, leading you to shake uncontrollably against his hips, making him grunt and moan.
“Keep moving, angel, don't stop...” he whispers as you try to follow his orders as far as your body permits you.
His cock is buried in you, he is fucking you so good you're barely able to move properly.
“Yes, just like that, baby, you're so good” his words keep hitting at your core, only spurring you to push yourself to your own limits as he starts leaving wet kisses on your throat “My good girl...”
"Please, please, please!" the fire inside you is ready to burst, your peak is getting closer and you want more.
“You wanna cum, angel?”
“Yes, yes please, n-need to cum!” hot tears start streaming down your cheeks and you moan again, again and again, scratching his hands and leaving bruises on his knuckles.
Everything seems to be so intense. Sweat is soaking your bodies, immersing you both in a hot-as-hell shower. The wet sound of bones and skins slapping floods your ears, your juices flowing down your thighs ruining the fine fabric of his expensive trousers.
You're so close and so is he. You feel in heaven.
“Then cum baby, cum around my cock” his voice shakes you inside, his tip hits that sweet spot in you and your vision goes blurry.
“Austin!” you cry out, your throat rips apart for the strength of your climax. Your orgasm washes over you and you convulse, the shocks running through your body are too strong and leave you powerless as you collapse on his chest.
“Fucking god” soon a growl of satisfaction slips from his throat, and his abdomen tightens underneath you. His grip loosens, thick ropes of his white cum spill inside you and paint your walls, making you shiver.
The room is now filled with silence, interrupted every now and then by the racing breaths escaping from both of your lungs.
You're exhausted.
“You did so good, angel, so good” he starts caressing your head gently, his praises warming your heart as you try to recover from the passionate fuck you two just had, but before you can say anything he picks you up and gets off the couch.
You whimper in surprise, finding the strenght to tie your legs and arms around the soft fabric of his suit as Austin's cock is still hard inside you.
“Let's go t' bed, baby” he announces, a wicked grin crossing his face “Wanna see how deep I can fill this pussy if I let you ride me on the mattress”
a/n: okay sooo… what do you think? would you like to read anything else? i got five or six ideas to write in my drafts already 👀
Tag-list: @pennyroyalcreep @bcofl0ve @houndogsblog @gigisworldsstuff @emmaolsen @cryingabtab @slowsweetlove @fuckhoes1123 @cchl @auranightangle @spirited-away-to-mandalore @donnamarie23 @ab4eva @dancer4j @kibumslatina @denised916 @faeolwen @alqvarde @lilmisswoo93 @oldermenluverrr @eliseinmemphis @purejasmine @lillypink @sournatromanoff @lukedorkyhemmings @claudia-barnes @bo-burnhxm @lilac-presley @onlyangelssing @amorx
(the tag list is OPEN, comment down here if you wanna be added!)
#austin butler#austin butler smut#austin butler x reader#austin butler ff#austin butler imagine#austin elvis imagine#austin butler elvis#austin butler!elvis#austin x reader#austin butler x y/n#austin butler x priscilla actress reader#austin butler x you#austin butler fluff#austin butler one shot#austin butler headcanons#elvis x reader#austin!elvis angst#austin!elvis smut#austin!elvis presley x reader#austin!elvis x reader#austin!elvis imagine#austin!elvis x oc#austin!elvis fluff#elvis imagine#elvis film#elvis presley#elvis movie#elvis!austin#smut#angst
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Devil In Your Eyes (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)
Summary: It’s a party and you’re invited to the mysterious and eclectic Mr. Preley’s estate, to properly meet your father’s employer.
A/N: This is based on this request here made by @itlover8000. And I know I promised to have the next part of If I Were You up, but I'll post later as to why it may take a little longer than originally planned. This one was a lot of fun to write, and I hope to god that I did the mafia aspect justice, while still keeping reader relatively in the dark. Let’s hope we don’t have a repeat of last time and it gets in the tags the first time. Also just to give a timeline as to the fic, in this story Elvis was pretty much drafted right before he met the colonel which halted his entire music career and he started his criminal one right after returning stateside. If you would like to be added to my taglist let me know!
Warnings: Yandere!Elvis but also introducing... Mafia Boss!Elvis, though he’s not called that in the story. There are themes of delusional, manipulative, and gaslighting behvaior depicted. Smut, including oral (f. recieving) and first time are depicted. Sexual tension galore. Implied violence toward reader’s father. Gratuitous but non-sexual use of the word Daddy, but more in the general southern sense of affectionately referring to one’s father. Reader is young but over 18 when she meets Elvis for the first time. Please do not interact if you are under 18.
Word Count: 13.9k
My Masterlist
When you were young you asked your daddy what he did.
"I’m an accountant, little bug" he said with a kiss on your forehead.
When you were a little older, you asked him what does an accountant do?
"I handle money for other people Sweetheart,'" he would say as he looked at rows and rows of numbers that may as well have been hieroglyphics to you.
The boldest question you ever asked him was how much he made as an accountant. You asked because another girl had invited you over to her house and yours was nicer by far, which was weird because she had told you that her dad was an accountant as well.
He stiffened at that question, and it almost looked as though he were trembling. He took a swig of his drink and he would tell you "don't worry about where the money comes from Gem. Worry about where it's goin'."
Before you could argue further he reminded you of that upcoming school dance and how you deserve a real nice dress to go. That's how he would handle any follow up questions afterward.
You're daddy was an accountant, but you didn't live like an accountant's daughter. Your mama passed when you were real little and ever since then your daddy did his best to spoil you with the nicest jewelry, the finest clothes, and the fanciest schools in all of Memphis.You hardly even remember your mama, but that’s not something you say out loud anymore because of how sad he would get at that thought.
You’re given everything you could want, but these days it feels as though you’re rarely ever given what you actually want.
Gem he called you as a pet name, because even with all the money and wealth he had gotten over the years, he wanted you to know that you were his most precious. He had worked hard to raise you without a mama, and as an accountant he did his best to earn a living for you to thrive.
But not a lot of things about his job made sense. He never went to an office, some men would bring boxes and boxes of papers to your house, and would take others away. He rarely ever let you have friends over because he worried about them looking into said boxes. But the oddest thing about his job would be how the whole world seemed to stop the moment the phone rang.
The phone calls weren't that frequent all things considered, but he would drop any and everything to answer it. That was one of the few rules your house had, to always pick up the phone and to always hand it over if a Mr. Presley called. You’ve answered the phone a few times and heard from the mysterious Mr. Presley, but it was never more than a few words asking for daddy, who was always quick to drop whatever he was doing to answer the call. The conversation between the two of them would always be over before you even left the kitchen, and within minutes daddy would be out the door and be gone for a few hours.
When you were little you had a slight resentment toward Mr. Presley for how busy he kept your daddy, even going so far as to slip him a letter in one of those boxes when you were 8 or so, asking him to give your daddy less work so he can play with you more. That was one of the only times that your daddy had ever yelled at you, and it was apparently your polite tone and Mr. Presley’s good sense of humor that prevented your daddy from losing his job. Now his eccentric ways of doing business are the only thing keeping you from going stir-crazy and giving you some much needed breathing room from your daddy.
You were going to graduate this weekend, but you could hardly say you were looking forward to not being able to go to school anymore. Daddy seems to hover around you more and more these days, you guess, because he’s trying to keep you in the nest as long as possible at this point. These days it’s rare for you to even leave the house period, and forget about leaving the house without him.
Of course you tried to make the best of it, afterall you had spent years wishing he would be more present in your life, and not just in your house. But it’s hard not to feel embarrassed when your daddy is a constant looming presence at every dance and social event your senior year. He doesn’t even trust you anymore to be alone with your girlfriends, so forget about being with a boy.
It felt like you were hardly out of his sight anymore, and you were suffocating. Ironically enough the most freedom you had anymore was in school, where you didn’t have to worry about him listening in on your girl talk or chasing away every boy that even glanced your way. You had tried talking to him about it only to be met with some half-hearted apologies and promises to let up once you were out of high school. Though with how from how much he’s dissuaded you from making any plans over the summer due to a mysterious trip to he’s planning, you aren’t holding your breath.
Even the night before your graduation, you could hardly expect much. While your friends were out and about on the town, you were relegated to packing for said trip. The flight was on Sunday, and you were hoping to use your daddy’s promise of letting up to go properly celebrate with them after the ceremony.
You truly believed it was going to be a night like any other, until you hear a knock at the door only to find a decently sized gift box, with a large bow on top sitting at your front door. To Y/N written on the tag in beautiful calligraphy. With graduation being tomorrow it's not too surprising to receive a gift, but when you open it up you find a pair of masks (one a simple black domino mask, the other a beautifully embellished, soft blue venetian mask) and you’re confused by the gift until you find a thick piece of cardstock at the bottom of the box.
Huh, so Mr, Presley’s throwing a party, you think idly as you look at the invitation for you and your daddy. It’s odd and a bit rude that you received an invite the day of the party, but that doesn’t seem very out of character, when you consider the bizarre ways he does business. You know what Masquerade Balls were, you were gunning for it to be the theme when you were on the Prom committee, but ended up losing to Tina Fike’s Midnight in Paris theme.
Picking up the blue mask you can’t help but think as to how perfectly it matches your prom dress in color. You hadn’t been able to wear it due to the shop messing up the dates and not having it finished in time, so your only option was to wear one of their loaner dresses that didn’t quite fit right. They ended up finishing the dress by the next Saturday, and it’s sat in your closet, unworn, taunting you ever since.
It seems like the stars have finally aligned, and considering that this is from Mr. Presley, there is absolutely no way your daddy would refuse an invitation from him. He’s been called in for business in the middle of the night, you doubt this will even register as being unusual to him.
“Daddy! Daddy, look what just came!” you exclaim, bursting into his office. You don’t even question why the invitation was addressed specifically to you, and not him. Nor why you see the blood drain from his face as he reads the letter. You’re busy picturing what will undoubtedly be the ball of your dreams.
“Gem, uhhh….” he swallows hard at this one. “Your graduation tomor-”
“Oh I know,” you cut him off. “But since it’s at noon, I figure it won’t be too bad if we stay up a little later.” You say as you turn around to start rifling through his suits, to find something appropriately black tie for him to wear.
“Baby, I…” he swallows hard. “I got the dates wrong for the tickets. Our flights leave at 6 tomorrow morning,” he said with a sad pitying look on his face.
“...but my graduation is at noon tomorrow.”
“I know,” he says solemnly.
“...”
“...”
“Oh.”
“Sweetheart, I know you’re upset,” he says, reaching for you, but you jerk yourself away.
“I’m not,” you reply, your voice cracking as you try to hold back your tears as best as you can.
“I know, Baby girl,” he said, bringing you closer to his shoulder. “But you gotta trust me when I say that this is for the best. I’ll explain everything when we get there, but for now,” he says, giving you a sad kiss to your forehead, “Just go finish packing.”
“...ok daddy.”
You had been packed and ready for weeks by this point, so as you lay in bed, you try to justify it in your head, try to imagine where this mysterious place he was taking you could be that would warrant skipping your graduation ceremony and missing what could be the last time you would see many of your friends. But short of the moon, you can’t. Anywhere in the world you could be, but the one place you want to be tomorrow is with all of them.
So a grand party, your graduation, and possibly the last time you would be seeing many of your friends are all the things you wanted but would miss, in favor of something you didn’t even want in the first place.
You hold up the blue mask in front of your face and you imagine the kind of party it would be. Your mind conjures up the most lavish of gowns and the best music. The riveting conversations to be had and the interesting people to meet. The more you thought about it the more tantalizing it became. But you quickly scrub those useless ideas in your head.
It’s a party for daddy’s boss, you think to yourself. What could be more boring than that?
Not to mention, even if you did go, you recall how boring of a time you had at your prom as you could practically feel your daddy breathing down your neck the whole time.
But daddy was still here, you didn’t hear any of the usual sounds for when he was about to leave and you would be forced to stay with Old Mrs. Sack next door. So he’s staying home, is what you think. This would mark the first time you’ve ever seen your daddy reject an invitation from Mr. Presley.
Well he wasn’t technically invited, you were… your eyes snapped open at that thought. So really it would be on the invited person as to whether or not you would go, so technically you could go on your own. You aren’t his plus one, he’s yours.
It’s a party for his boss, you argue with yourself, so it’s not as though you would be able to go without him. At that moment, do you realize that it'll be the first time in almost a year since you’ve done anything without him practically trying to hold your hand. You think you know why your freedom has been severely stifled as of late and it all stems from a single act of rebellion almost a year ago to the day.
You remember last summer when your daddy had pulled you out of school early claiming it was going to be an early summer vacation. But what proceeded was perhaps the worst week of your life. During the days when he wasn’t driving for hours on end, he was glancing over his shoulder wherever you were stopped at. And those nights he would hardly sleep a wink in the rundown motels you would be stopped at, and you could hardly blame him because you were very much in the same boat. Worst of all was how little you knew about the whole situation, and you hated how even within the confined space of the car he was somehow still able to dodge the questions you had.
Where are we going?
Why now?
When will we be going home?
By the end of the week you were at the end of your rope and wanted to go home, you missed your bed, you missed your friends, and you were bored out of your mind within the motel. There was only so much TV you could handle before your brain would start dripping out of your ears, and you had already read the few books you had managed to grab before daddy forced you out of the house, a couple times each at this point.
Your daddy was never one to deny you anything you asked for, and so knowing the power of your requests, you never tried to push it. Even when he showered you with gifts, you were careful to accept it but not ask for much else. So it was jarring that of the few requests you have made on this trip, all of them were rejected, in spite of the fact that they were all relatively simple. A request to stop at some corny roadside attraction. No, it’s a waste of time. A new book from that store across from the service station. No, we’re trying to save money. A quick dip into the motel pool. No, you’ll get pink eye.
This one was especially infuriating due to the disgustingly hot summer night you found yourself in, one that makes your sweat sticky and your clothes cling to your body. To add further insult to injury the room your daddy rented was seemingly the only room without a working AC. He was somehow able to fall asleep with the TV still on and you took the opportunity to stare longingly at the pool of the El Rey motel in the middle of who knows Texas, doing your best to ignore the uncomfortable tacky feeling of your shirt.
You hadn’t been allowed to do anything this whole trip, and you’re sick of it. His latest excuse being your breaking point, treating you like some little kid that didn’t know any better. You had just turned eighteen and yet he still insists on treating you like a little girl. This is your last summer before your senior year of high school, and you’re spending it without your friends far from home.
But… did you really need his permission?
Fine, you thought as you gazed at the temptingly blue pool right outside your window. If he ain’t gonna listen to me, then I don’t gotta listen to him. People can call you spoiled all they want, but you thought you were at the very least entitled to water in the desert.
You grabbed a hold of one of the towels in the bathroom and tip-toed past your daddy’s bed as he sleeps like a corpse, and closed the door to your room as you left as quietly as you could. There weren’t that many cars in sight and not a soul to be seen, and with it being well past midnight you figured the coast was clear for your little act of rebellion as you padded your way barefoot across the parking lot pavement.
You didn’t pack a swimsuit with you, didn’t have the time to, but you figure your regular underwear covers about as much as it would. You still double and triple check that you’re alone and no lights are on and no windows are open in the surrounding rooms. The humid night air makes the pool all the more inviting and you quickly shimmy out of your skirt and peel your blouse off your body and before you can lose your nerve you jump into the pool.
It’s a nice shock to your system with the water being cool but not frigid, and as you opened your eyes beneath the water you felt like you were transported to a different world entirely. The light coming from the pool didn’t help clear your blurry vision, but as you look up and see the night sky meet the surface of the water, it looks as though there is no distance separating the two. As though your hand could break the top of the water and you would suddenly find yourself out amongst the stars.
It should be terrifying, but it’s not. In fact it's exhilarating. There’s no one here but you and the unjudging night. You feel like you’re the only person alive and as you breach the surface of the water to take a deep satisfying breath you feel reborn. You feel freer than you ever have been, you're not the perfect unquestioning daughter any longer, you’re a woman who can demand answers and leave if she so chooses.
You were always a good girl, and always listened to your daddy, because you wanted to feel like you deserved what he gave you. But all that pales in comparison to the intoxicating feeling this act of rebellion fills you with, and wanting to make this feeling last, you forgo your original plan of a quick dip and choose to make the most of your time there. You do your best to try to swim like a mermaid. You swim to the bottom to get a feel of the pool tiles that make up the palm tree design. You repeatedly try to break your own record for holding your breath, and you let yourself float to the surface and enjoy the view of the night sky above and the liberating feeling of being weightless.
But it’s the slight burning aroma in the air that drags you back down to Earth. It smells like tobacco and leather and various other spices you can’t quite place. You raise your head out of the water and look around to find the source of the fragrance. The chlorine has made your vision a bit hazy, but you can see clearly enough to see the handsome man dressed all in black, save for a blood red tie, sitting near the pool and chewing on a cigar.
Your first instinct, stupidly enough, is to duck back into the pool and hope he goes away, but that hope dies as quickly as you begin to feel the burning in your lungs for oxygen. You tentatively surface figuring you’ve been caught already, no use in denying it.
“I didn’t realize there were pool hours,” you say through your teeth.
The handsome stranger gives an amused huff at that. “Now that’s a lie if I ever heard one,” he states, a small smirk creeping up on his face. “Don’t worry Darlin’. I won’t tell if you don’t.” he says, using his cigar to point behind you where you find a no smoking sign. You let out a small giggle, some of the tension sapping out of you as at this little conspiracy you hold with this stranger.
“Sorry, I ain’t used to doin’ that,” you say, casting your eyes downward where you finally realize how your cotton bra became slightly see-through, and you pray that he’s too far away to notice. He raises an eyebrow at your answer.
“That I believe,” he chuckles. “So you’re a good girl afterall,” he remarks, and something lights up within you as he says that. The closest you’ve ever felt to this was when you had been kissing Mickey, your next door neighbor, at your friend Jasmine’s birthday party. It had been a simple game of spin the bottle and the kiss had started innocently enough in that hallway closet, as you were too shy to do so in front of everyone. Though it quickly turned into something more when he had put his hand on your lower back to bring you closer to him and something akin to lightning crackled underneath his touch and up your spine. The feeling had been so intense that you audibly gasped and pulled away from him, and now that same sensation runs through your body again.
What was scariest most of all was that this man was able to cause this with his voice alone, a good five feet away from you.
“Not always,” you answer, your voice only slightly cracking in nervousness. You swim closer to where he’s sitting, in part to hide yourself from his view, though mostly to hear him better, as you’re inexplicably drawn to him.
He chuckles at your answer, “Now that’s the biggest lie I ever heard,” he tells you, sure in his assessment of you despite the fact he hasn’t even known you for more than a minute. You're caught between being flustered and offended, at how accurate it is.
“What gave me away?” You ask not to be snippy, but genuinely curious, how he was able to have you pegged so quickly.
“Between your big ole’ doe eyes and your school girl get-up right here,” he said gesturing to the clothes you had haphazardly left on the deck chair. “Figured you’re too honest for your own good.”
“Is that such a bad thing?”
He looks a bit taken aback by your response, before he gives an amused sigh, “No. Fact it’s a little refreshin’ to know people like you still exist. I’m Elvis by the way.”
“Well Elvis, you still haven’t answered my question.”
His lips curl up, amused at your boldness. “It can be, if you meet the wrong sorts.”
“And are you the wrong sorts?”
“Y’know you ask a lotta questions for someone whose name I don’t even know,” he remarks, though his smile keeps the tone light. “But to answer your question, it depends on who ya’ ask.”
“Well, I’m Y/N and if you ask me you look like a decent man.”
“And who taught ya’ what decent men look like?” he says as he leans closer to you, resting his elbows on his knees,
“My daddy, “ you say earnestly. “He’s a good, honest man, so I know what to look out for.”
He narrows his eyes at that as he takes a puff of his cigar. You’ve never been a good liar, never quite figuring out what your apparently obvious tell was, but everyone you've ever met is apparently able to. But whatever it is he was looking for he apparently found, as he proceeds to ask, “So what’s a pretty girl like you doin’ all the way down in bumfuck Texas?”
“Oh umm…” you say, momentarily shocked by his free use of such language. “I’m with my daddy on vacation.”
“No kiddin’, where y’all headed to?”
“I honestly don’t know,” you sigh, putting your head down on your arms resting on the pool's edge. “He says he wants to keep it a surprise.”
“You havin’ any fun?”
“...yes?”
“Now that’s three times you tried lyin’ to me sweetheart,” he chuckles. “One more time, and I may not be so kind.” You don’t really understand why that made your breath quicken.
“You don’t even know my name,” you argue, sinking slightly so that he wouldn’t so easily see his effect on you. “How do you figure you know me so well?”
“I work just about everywhere, and part of my job is knowin’ a good liar from a bad one,” he explains. “And you sweetheart are one a the worst I ever seen.”
“What do you even know about lying?” you ask, a bit defensive of the truth.
“I know how to do it right,” he states genially, before raising an eyebrow to blow some smoke out of his nose. “I can teach you if you want?” You’re at a bit of a loss, though you quickly shake your head yes as you figure what’s the harm in hearing him speak.
Now that you’re getting a better look and the chlorine is seeping out of your eyes, you can truly see how attractive he is. He’s the scary type of good-looking, the type that makes it hard to look at him for too long, lest all your breath be taken from your chest. You have to consciously rip your eyes away from his face several times so that you don’t get too caught up in it. Truly he’s not like any man you’ve ever met before, but that’s not saying much considering how little you ever really interact with men. Sure there are boys your own age, and a few teachers here and there but, none of them talk with you so candidly, ironically enough given that this is a conversation about lies.
“Now the key to lyin’ is to always sprinkle it in with the truth,” he would say. You liked the way he spoke to you, not just because of how he sounds, but because of the way he treated you as you spoke. When he spoke to you, he made it feel as though he were passing on the secrets of the universe to you, and you just about hung onto every single word he uttered. You even bring most of your body out of the water simply to hear him better.
“Why don’t we play a game now lil’ one?” you face heating up slightly with that nickname he gave you. “Two lies and a truth.”
“Isn’t it two truths and a lie?”
“Usually, but you need to get better at the lyin’ bit, so we’re gon’ do it the other way.” he says with a small chuckle.
“Ok,” you say as you exit the pool. “But you go first, and show me how it’s done.”
His lip curls up into a full blown smile, but it quickly drops and he fixes his gaze on the sky. You’re confused at his reaction until you glance down and remember you’re not wearing a proper swimsuit. You scramble forward and do your best to quickly dry off and put your clothes back on all the while as Elvis keeps his eyes closed like a gentleman.
“Thank you,” you said quickly as you sat down and draped the soaked towel over your shoulders to hide the way your shirt clings to your wet brassiere. “Why do I even need to learn how to lie?”
“Sweetheart, take it from someone who knows what the world’s like,” he says. “Being good and honest won’t get you shit in life, especially not what you want.”
“Well…” you swallow unsure of your next words. “Now I think that’s a lie,” you say boldly.
He quirks a brow at this, and a bit of satisfied smile can also be just barely perceived as he is evidently impressed with your ability to stand up to him. “Y’know people are gonna be stirrin’ real soon, why don’t we head up to my room and finish up this game properly,” he offers casually, as though he was offering you a stick of gum.
You’re absolutely struck dumb by that question. Of course you’re not so naive as to what’s on his mind, you got the same wait till marriage speech every other girl in Sunday school got. And as adamant as you were that you would, it’s a very different situation to face now that the hypothetical has become a reality.
To say the least, that man had ignited something within you that you’re not sure how to say no to.
Scratch that.
You’re not sure you want to say no to.
“Y/N?”
You whip around so fast when you hear that familiar voice behind you. Your daddy is standing at the doorway, eyes darting between you and Elvis and he looks like he’s close to passing out. “Hi, Daddy, I-I uh…” your mind blanking, everything Elvis had just taught you about how to lie. “This-this isn’t what it l-looks like?” you say, but your tone makes it sound more like a question. A quick glance at Elvis sees him pursing his lips in a futile attempt to hide his smile, at your miserable excuse for a lie.
You look back at your daddy to find that his stare is focused solely on Elvis, who as of right now has perhaps the most easy-going expression in the world.
“Get inside and dry yourself off, gem. I don’t want you gettin’ sick.” he would tell you forlornly.
“Yes, daddy,” you answer obediently. Though it was as you were about to enter the room did you look back to Elvis still having not moved from his seat, whose focus is still solely on you, not even acknowledging your daddy. You want to say goodbye to him, but you're stopped by a familiar hand on your shoulder.
“Head inside, Y/N,” he says, his voice detached and his eyes distant. “I’m gonna have a few words with that man.”
You expected him to be angry at you, and if you’re being honest, a part of you you wanted him to be. And it was for a selfish reason of just wanting something to justify you breaking the rules in some way. But this is worse, he’s not mad, he’s not even disappointed. He looks heartbroken, seeing you with Elvis out there, knowing you didn’t listen to him.
You’re under the cool spray of the showerhead for a good half hour trying your best to scrub the chlorine smell off of your skin and waiting for that heat in your belly that Elvis caused to die down. You find your daddy sitting facing the window, and you can just barely make out his reflection in the window. There is a solemn expression on his face as he fixes his gaze out toward the pool area.
“Gem, I-I know you ain’t been havin’ any fun on this here trip,” he would say, not turning around to face you. “Believe me when I say we were going for a good reason,” you try not to perk up at his use of past tense, but you can’t help it. “Bu-but things changed sweetheart, and it’s up to you.”
“Up to me to what?” you ask.
There is a bit of a pause at that, and if it weren’t for that look of pain that you see in his reflection as you said that, you may have even thought he hadn’t heard you. “...To choose if we go home or not.”
“Oh…” you say, unsure of this offer. Choice is not exactly something you’re used to with daddy, aside from the occasional “pick your favorite color.” So you’re shocked at the question to say the least having fully expected to simply suffer through the rest of this trip and hope the destination was worth it. But you’ve never been a good liar in your life. “Yes, I do daddy.”
He closes his eyes and takes a deep long breath before you see him nod his head, still not turning around to face you. “Well… that’s that then…” he says, as though he’s resolved himself to something, though you don’t know what. “I-I’m gonna go… settle up with the office right now. You get some rest cuz we’ll be heading home come mornin’.” Not wanting to jinx it, you follow his orders and lay down back on the scratchy sheets.
The guilt still eats at you, and as he opens the door, you quickly apologize to him for your disobedience, but his nod of acknowledgement does little to ease that uneasy feeling in your belly.
The trip back was in some ways better this time around, but you could hardly say that it was any more bearable. Daddy warnings came true and you woke up with a pretty bad bout of pink eye, but he wasn’t so stingy about either his time or money so stops were frequent. You were well beyond the age that you should enjoy the cheesy tourist traps, but they are welcome reliefs to the hours long car rides wrought with silence that would follow you and daddy from state to state. Not to mention you’re actually aware of your intended destination this time around, but you do your best to stamp down the burning questions within as to why such a heel turn, especially since the change in plans came immediately after your little stunt.
If he was mad at you, you wish he would just say so, but you can’t even sum it up to that anymore considering the way he looks at you sometimes. There was always a bit of a quiet sadness in his eyes when he looked at you that never quite left even once you got home. He got better and better at hiding it after you brought it up to him but you would still on occasion find that expression on his face from time to time when he thought you weren’t looking. Your best guess is that you’re starting to look more like your mama.
There were some nights where you would wonder if any of this new treatment from your daddy would have happened had you simply not gone into that pool, or even simply gotten out when you had promised yourself you would. You’d like to believe if you had known that that dive would have been your last taste of freedom, you would have done a better job at savoring it. That being said, when you caught a pair of icy blue eyes watching you and your daddy leave the El Rey motel, you couldn’t find it in yourself to regret anything about that night.
Daddy was being even more tight-lipped as to what this trip is about this time around. What’s worse, is that he’s not describing the trip as fun or even necessarily relaxing, just “necessary.” with no further explanation.
Elvis’ words about what happens to good and honest people ring in your mind. And as you lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, you ponder whether or not there was any truth to that statement.
You want to go to this party, if for the simple reason that you would like to dress up and have some fun. You want to go to your graduation ceremony, because you worked hard to finish school, and want to see the fruits of your labor. You want to celebrate with your friends for what may very well be the last time, because… because… well because you want to and it doesn’t seem like too much to ask for.
In another life they all aligned perfectly so that you would be able to do all three of these things, but you live in this life and a stupid flight for a trip you didn’t even want in the first place took priority over all of it.
Of course… that is if you get on that flight.
No that’s crazy, you think to yourself. You have to be on that flight tomorrow morning, which is why you need to be ready to leave and so you have to go to bed early. It would be a real shame if you were out so long and slept through the flight.
Maybe… maybe if I did stay out long enough and we miss the flight… There wouldn’t be any reason why I couldn’t go to the Graduation ceremony. You feel awful for these thoughts, and you recognize how sneaky and manipulative the plan forming in your head is. You do your best to ignore them by trying to remember how much your daddy wanted to go. But you want to be with your friends tomorrow, you want to graduate, and see them off properly, because your daddy hasn’t given you a clue as to when you would be coming back.
People have always remarked how lucky you were of all the things you have in your life, but you’ve always known that there was a difference between taking what you’re given and getting what you want. Every fancy or expensive thing you own comes with a story. They’re really all the same, daddy missed a school thing, a recital, a birthday, etc., because of work and in return he would give you something expensive in lieu of his absence.
You were of course grateful for these things but all you ever really wanted was your daddy there. So you always tried to strive towards earning your keep with good grades, good attitude, good social standing, truly all the markings of a perfect daughter. All of this done in an effort to earn his presence.
And what has the perfect daughter earned? You think bitterly to yourself as you pack your outfit into a garment bag. You quickly fix your hair up all fancy like and fix your makeup, all the while planning your escape route.
It’s truly a miracle that you were able to make your way out of your bedroom window without a scratch, but you’re not about to count your blessings yet, as your plan hinges on being able to get there, and you have no idea how to drive. But you know someone who does, which is how you find yourself pounding on Mickey’s front door.
He was the typical boy next door type who was your first kiss as well as the kid who put bugs in your hair when you were little. He was home from college for the summer with his shiny Lincoln Continental, his daddy gave you and according to his little sister, very sweet on you. He was therefore the best/only candidate as your date to this thing. You were lucky enough that he almost immediately agreed, and bolted upstairs to grab a suit to wear. You’re on a bit of a time crunch, so you quickly change in his little sister's room, and before you know it the both of you are on the road.
“S-so Y/N, who-whose party is this anyway?” he stutters out once, while stiffly but trying to appear casually resting his arm behind your seat.
“Oh my daddy’s boss,” you say casually. “I don’t know his full name, I just know him as Mr. Presley.”
He goes a bit, bug-eyed at your statement. “Re-really?”
You confirm, a bit confused at his reaction. “Do you know him?”
He restlessly taps at the steering wheel, before swallowing and saying that he knows of him. “Di-did he invite you personally?”
“Yeah,” you say, and you show him the invitation that was addressed to you personally. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh,” he responds, the worry still evident in his voice. “Does your dad know you’re goin’ there.”
You swallow, nervous at this new line of questioning. “...yes,” you answer looking out the window to avoid being seen by him.
“Does he know I’m with you right now?”
Your tongue is weighed down by the lies, and you’re unable to speak, so you merely hum in the affirmative.
“Hmm…” is all he responds, and the conversation peters out after that, with the only sounds to be heard being the hum of the engine and his anxious rapping of his fingers, as the two of you make your way to the big white house in Whitehaven.
Finally you come upon the bronze gates of the eye-catching estate. You show the Valet your invitation and they let you through easily, and you’re too busy marveling at the grand residence before you, that you failed to notice the way Mickey seemed to be sweating through his suit right next to you. No, you're occupied by trying to get the mask to sit just right to notice, and when you hand over the domino mask, he declines stating he’ll put it on after he parks the car. He tells you to go on ahead without him, and so lost to your excitement, you do just that, trusting that you would meet up with him soon.
As you made your way to the back of the house, your mind was already conjuring up this ideal image of your grand entrance to the party, where everyone would stop what they were doing to marvel at your beauty. Where you would be the mysterious unknown woman who had just arrived and took everyone’s breath away.
You realize your folly when you actually do come into view of the gathering at large and many people do notice your arrival. It’s not as flattering as you would have thought, and regret starts to seep into your belly.
The men wore pretty standard tuxedos, while the women were all wearing bold reds, striking golds, or even sophisticated black dresses, making you and your soft blue and white prom dress stick out like a sore thumb. It was almost like you had “outsider” written on your forehead. The men don’t really see you or actively look away from you and the many women look like they want to rip your hair out or pinch your cheeks. Despite how perfectly the dress fits you feel like that little girl who tried walking around the house in her sick mama's shoes, trying desperately to get her to smile, only to end up twisting her ankle, and making mama worry more.
You overhear some people say how celebrities like BB King, Johnny Cash, and even Frank Sinatra were present, and this just further tightens the knot in your stomach, and you wonder what you are even doing here.
Not even a full half hour and you’re ready to leave, as you’ve never been put into a situation where you don’t know a single person and you’re far from comfortable simply inserting yourself into conversations. You search to find Mickey, but in spite of the fact that he had worn a pretty distinct suit, you can find neither hide nor hair of him.
This was all too much to handle on your own and you’re silently cursing your earlier, bolder self. The entire floor seems to fall silent for a moment and everyone else’s attention is drawn to one direction for a moment. All except for you, as you take this opportunity to make your way outside of the party to gather yourself. Why did you think this would be a good idea? To go to a party where the few you could only vaguely recognize some, and know not even a single name? You remove your mask, ashamed you ever thought you would be able to pass yourself off as a woman and not the child you were.
All of these doubts are only further compounded as you feel a tap on your bare shoulder. “Pretty sure the point of these things is to wear a mask,” a voice like honey whispers near your ear. You’re so scared that you’ve unknowingly broken a cardinal rule and that you were about to be kicked out, though this eases somewhat as you see a light quirk on this stranger's lips.
Unlike the other men you’d seen at the party, he didn’t wear a simple black mask, no his was far more ornate, and with the burnt burgundy color to match his tie, in stark contrast to his all black suit, overall giving him a very devilish look. Whether it’s the perfectly coiffed hair or the plush lips, something about him feels deeply familiar.
You’re not able to pinpoint what exactly until you're finally caught by his icy blue gaze that was almost entirely muted by the red of his mask. “Elvis?” And when he gives you that devastating grin of his you launch yourself into him to wrap him in a hug. “What are you doing here?” you question, though you’re glad nonetheless to find at least one somewhat familiar face in a sea of masks.
“Like I said I do business everywhere, ‘specially in Memphis,” he said, pulling away to answer you yet his hands remain on your hips.
“Oh so you know Mr. Presley?”
He looks taken aback at your question for the briefest of seconds, before a soft smirk crosses his face. “You can say somethin’ like that,” thoroughly charmed by you. “So whatcha you doin’ in a place like this all by your lonesome?”
You let out a tired sigh before giving a sad smile and saying, “I don’t even know, anymore.”
You feel him put a finger under your chin, and you're brought to look him in the face. He looked genuinely concerned for you as he asked you “hey, now what’s wrong lil’ one?”
“Nothing,” you say, trying to dismiss his concerns.
He gives an amused chuckle, and he sounds mighty satisfied with himself as he says, “Still ain’t gotten any better at lyin’, huh Y/N?”
That does get a laugh out of you, albeit a sorry imitation of one. “Can’t believe that’s what you remember about me,” you say.
“I remember alotta things darlin’” he says. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Despite the fact that you’ve only met him twice in total, you know that there is no use in lying to him. So that’s how you find yourself regaling this man with your teenage woes as well as your devious plan to circumvent your fathers wishes. Elvis luckily enough is sympathetic to your plight, and seems thoroughly unimpressed with your fathers reasoning as to why you’re going to miss a major milestone in your life. “This was a bad idea.”
“Nah, it wasn’t a bad idea,” he reassures. “So-so execution, but not a bad plan.”
“I really should just go home,” you say, shaking your head. You try to turn away from him, only to be lead by the waist back to the party.
“Tell you what, Satnin,” he says. “I’ll take ya’ home by the end of the night. But first you gotta do somethin’ for me.” A devilish smirk crosses his face when he sees your breath quicken. “I want you to be my date.”
“What?”
“Well the flaw in your plan was, you don’t know anybody else,” he says. “But you know me, and I can make the proper introductions to everyone back there and you don’t gotta be Johnny’s daughter, you can be my new girl.”
He reaches to take the mask in your hand and steps behind you to put it in place. The more you think about his offer the more it makes sense. You’re alone here, and you could use a friend right about now, and it makes sense for said friend to be someone who is intimately familiar with this sort of lifestyle.
“What'dya say, darlin’,” he says as he quickly fastens the ribbon of your mask in place. “When you wear this mask here you can pretend to be anyone you want to be. So why not pretend to be my date?” He offers his hand to you and you hardly even hesitate a moment to take his hand.
Elvis is able to talk you through how to walk, talk, and overall, how to act like you belong here in the slightest. He doesn’t mind you practically clinging to his arm for most of the night, and he is able to make introductions to almost everybody attending. Elvis even introduces you to the mysterious Mr. Presley, a soft-spoken salt and pepper haired gentleman, who insists on being called Vernon. You hope your face doesn’t show it, but this is far from the man you always imagined in your head, the man whose name alone could make your daddy quake in his boots.
Though whatever thoughts you have about your host is quickly wiped away as Elvis quickly moves you to the next, more interesting guest. People have a tendency to gravitate towards Elvis, offering their congratulations to him, and remarks on how you’re one lucky lady. You bask in this, as for what for the first time in your life, people look at you and don’t see a child they see a woman.
It is around midnight when your good mood comes to a screeching halt, as you hear a loud commotion coming from the front of the party. “Y/N!? Y/N!? Where are you!” you hear your daddy yell amongst the crowd, accosting several women with even a passing resemblance to you. You quickly try to shield your face with your hand for all the good it would do, your face burning in humiliation.
Elvis seeing your distress quickly takes you by the elbow and leads you out of the bright lights of the dance floor, and into the shadows of the outside, and before you know it he’s leading you through the backdoors of the grand house.
“I don’t think we’re allowed in here.” you whisper to him as you still continue to follow his lead.
“Trust me, baby,” he says, slinging an arm around your shoulders, where you notice an open bottle of champagne. “Boss man won’t mind too much.”
“What’s this party for anyway?” you ask as you relieve yourself of the shoes you had been wearing, and take a seat next to him on the ground beside the couch.
“Mr. Presley’s gettin’ hitched tomorrow.” he says flippantly, all the while removing his mask.
“Oh…” you say, glancing down at your blue and white dress. “Oh dear lord, and I showed up in white,” you say, burying your face in your hands, embarrassed beyond belief at your faux pas.
“Don’t think nothin’ of it baby,” he says, taking your chin in his hand, to bring you to look at him. “Most a the folks out there don’t even know. ‘Sides you dressed all in blue brings back some nice memories a Texas.”
“I wasn’t exactly wearing blue, back then.”
“You weren’t exactly wearin’ much a anythin’,” he says with a coy grin, and you swat at his shoulder in retaliation. “Y’know, I been thinkin’ a lot ‘boutchu this past year and what you said ‘bout bein’ honest.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he said, bringing your hand up to his lips. “I realized I needed more honest people in my life.”
“Oh,” you answer simply, unsure as to how to really respond to that. “I’m glad to hear that.”
“But enough ‘bout that. You remember that game we tried playin’ back in Texas?”
“The lying one?”
“That’s the one. Let’s play that again, ‘cept this time we’ll make it a little more interesting.” With a soft smile he holds up the half-filled bottle of champagne, a mischievous gleam in his eyes as he says, “you guess wrong or the other person gets it right, you gotta take a hit of this.” You think only for a moment, before ultimately agreeing, not wanting the night to end just yet.
You didn’t expect to win, but you didn’t expect to lose so miserably. He’s able to suss out any and all lies you state. He even changes the game midway to have it be two truths and a lie, hoping you’ll fare better with only needing to tell one lie rather than two. The few swigs he takes are from when you take your chances and randomly guess as to the true or false statement he’s making. And even then you get the impression it’s more to humor you.
Though as the bottle dwindles, you find yourself becoming bolder with both your lies and your truths, but it was all in an effort to keep up with how fantastical his statements were getting, not just the lies, but the truths as well. It really puts into perspective the kind of life he’s lived compared to you where any of the stories he tells you would be the craziest thing to have happened to anyone, yet they all somehow happened to him.
“I got played on the radio. I’m the most feared man here. I dodged the draft.” He said in one round, nothing about his body language giving him away, but with the amount of champagne you had you doubt you’d have picked up on them anyway. You also can’t quite remember at this point if it was two truths and a lie or two lies and a truth. With his fiendish attitude and rebellious nature you figure it was the last one and you tell him as much.
“Nah, darlin’, I did my due diligence for the country. Wish I didn’t sometimes, but that’s a whole other story.”
“Wait… you got played on the radio?” The idea of which was mind-blowing to you, but what was more shocking was his sudden shy demeanor.
“Yes ma’am,” he said, fiddling with one of his rings. “It was a small thing, song didn’t even make it outta the south.”
“Could you play something for me,” you ask, doing your best impression of a doe. You already like the way he speaks, so you can only imagine how it would sound for him to sing.
His eyes grow soft, at your request, and you're reminded of the pool at the El Rey Motel. How inviting those waters were, and how it felt almost like a cool balm on your restless soul.
“Maybe next time sweetheart,” he says. “‘Sides it’s your turn, and you ain’t even taken your shot yet,” handing the bottle, where you realize, there is perhaps only a mouthful or two left of the bubbly concoction, and it’s your turn.
“Ok, hmm…” you muse, after you had taken your drink, swirling the remnants in the bottle. Point wise, you have already most definitely lost the game, but that doesn’t mean you’re about to call it.
What was it he said about what makes a good lie? You internally ask yourself, trying to remember that little tidbit he gave you almost a year ago. That there’s always a bit of truth sprinkled within. And it’s as you remember this, that an idea suddenly strikes you.
“2 truths and a lie,” you announce to him. “I can’t ride a bike. My favorite candy is Lemonheads. And…” you hesitate, but power through before you lose your nerve completely. “And… I want to kiss you right now,” you’re finally able to stutter out
His eyes widen a little at your audacity, but he’s quick to collect himself, clearing his throat slightly and giving you a rakish smile as he answers. “That second one’s too specific to be fake.” he says, bringing his hands to cup your chin. “And ain’t no way that last ones a lie.” all the while coming closer to you. “So Imma go with the first one bein’ a lie.”
When his lips are maybe an inch away from yours do you put the bottle between the two of you.
“Drink,” you command, backing away from the bottle slightly. “I cannot ride a bike to save my life, it was the last one that was a lie,” you state, willing your voice not to waiver. “I don’t want to kiss you.” To really drive it home how good you’ve gotten at this lying business.
“O-oh,” he says, looking down ashamed.
“The truth is… I really, really want to kiss you,” you say, giggling ecstatically that he fell for your little ploy.
You get the pleasure of seeing a look of shock and confusion pass through his face, before it’s quickly replaced with a look of pride directed solely towards you. You worry slightly until you feel an arm slip around your waist and you're brought closer to him. So close that you find yourself straddling him. You’re not sure if the burning in your face is from embarrassment… or… something else entirely.
“That’s a dirty little trick there darlin’,” he says, his hands firmly on your hips keeping you in place, as though you would even want to leave at this point. “Who taught ya’ to lie like that, huh?”
“You did,” you declare, moving closer to him so that you’re practically nose to nose with him. For as bold as you’re being right now you wait for him to close the distance between the two of you. And luckily for you, you don’t have to wait long.
Of the few kisses you’ve had, none have ever been even remotely close to this. This isn’t the demure cheek kisses on your porch that just barely grazed the corner of your mouth, nor was it the shy pawings in a hallway closet after a game of spin the bottle. Those were experiences with boys, while Elvis… Elvis is a man.
It started out similar enough with a soft brushing of your lips with his as he slowly but surely the two of you became bolder and bolder. His lips capture yours to nibble lightly on your bottom lip, which you meet by throwing your arms around his neck. He throws you a bit off balance by planting his hands underneath your thighs, so you steady yourself by planting a hand on his slightly exposed chest.
It isn’t until you felt his tongue lightly brush against yours, did you pull back gasping for air. You can only imagine the kind of image you made right now with your chest heaving and your no doubt blown out eyes, but from the fiery look in his eyes he seems to enjoy it very much.
He leans forward into you as he starts to leave open mouthed kisses along your neck, which does nothing to help even out your breathing. Especially not when you can feel one of his hands begin to undo the pearl buttons along your back, while the other slowly inched its way under your dress.
“Follow me upstairs baby,” he whispers in your ear. “And I can teach ya’ so much more.”
Thoughts like the fact that this house doesn’t belong to either of you or that your daddy is out there looking for you are far from your mind as you breathlessly say yes to him. As you move to stand up, he stops you, “Take off the dress sweetheart,” he orders softly, his gaze searing into you, while he loosens his tie. “I wanna see all of you.”
You shakily move to stand and you undo the final few buttons on your lower back all the while hyper aware of his stare. You’re still untrained in the arts of seduction so rather than draw it out, you simply let the material drop down and pool at your feet and onto his lap. A part of you feels embarrassed at your undoubtedly boring white cotton bra and panty set you were wearing, and you silently look up and away from him to await his approval.
“That’s my girl,” he hums in approval, and you’re able to release that shuddering breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. Though you quickly draw air back in when you feel him place his hands on your hips and give a quick kiss to your cotton covered kitty.
Your heart is fluttering in your chest like a hummingbird as he leads you by the hand up the stairs and the warmth in your belly and the fuzziness in your head makes all of it feel like a dream. Not helped by the intensity of his oasis blue eyes, and you’re once again bathed in that same feeling when you were in that motel pool: that of being the only person alive.
You often thought about that night at the motel, and wondered what would have happened if you were a little quicker on the draw to his invitation back to his room. Through Mrs. Sacks talks and your friends' whisperings you understood the basic mechanics of it, and that if the man was good, it was supposed to be very pleasurable, but not much else. Elvis in many ways was a safe choice to fantasize about, as you never would have guessed you would see him again.
But as he lays you down in the largest bed you’ve ever seen in your life, do you really begin to question how well your fantasies have prepared you. He removes his shirt with practiced efficiency, all the while keeping his eyes squarely on you, the dim lighting doing little to shield you from his piercing stare. You’re left to pathetically writhe on the bed as he stands back up to unbutton his shirt, not being helped one bit by his bitten off smirk at your state.
You’re practically heaving as he crawls over you, and he captures your lips once more. In the privacy of this bedroom, the kisses turn from tender to filthy. His tongue probing your mouth with wild abandon as one hand deftly unhooks your bra. It is as you’re about to
“Lord, I’ve dreamed about these,” he says as he drags the soft cotton material off of your chest. You fight the urge to cover yourself, still wanting to obey his earlier command to see all of you. He leaves a trail of open mouth kisses down the slope of your breast until he finally meets a budding peak and takes it into his mouth. The act catches you so off guard that you can’t stop your lewd reaction to it.
“Ain’t a single day passes that I don’t think about you in that pool baby,” he whispers into your skin. The soft mewls from the warmth of his tongue as he laves at your nipples, are swiftly replaced with sharp yelps when you feel his cool breath blow lightly on the moistened area. Part of you doubts you’re even going to survive this night, given the difference in experience between the two of you. “Seein’ your sweet tits just beggin’ to be touched.” and he emphasizes his point with a slight scrape of his teeth on your nipple.
You’re hoping to make up for your lack of experience by sheer enthusiasm, so when you find him making his way off the bed, his eyes fixated on that final piece of clothing that hides your woman hood from his view, you spread your legs, eager to show him how much you wanted him. But when you’re rewarded for your eagerness with a kiss to your inner thigh, that immediately wants you to close them once more, but his strong hands make that impossible.
“Though I think these are just as wet as they were back then,” he purrs before licking a stipe up the seam of your kitty. You’re lost to the sensation of it, wanting to recoil but simultaneously embrace what he’s stirring up inside of you, much like back then.
You hear a ripping sound coming from him and you suddenly feel the cool night air fully hitting your burning core and you shiver at the delicious sensation of it. Even those few times you were brave enough to do anything remotely close to this it was always over the fabric and now you were left completely defenseless to this man's eyes. And if that’s not enough vulnerability for him, he proceeds to ask how you touch yourself.
You’re at a loss for words at his invasive question, but not so offended that you don’t answer him. And you shamefully tell him how you’ve only ever occasionally rubbed yourself against your pillows to chase that euphoric feeling.
“I’d like to see that sometime, doll,” he purrs, making you shiver. “But for right now we gotta getcha good and ready for me.”
Before you can question what he means about that, you feel something probe at your entrance, and you feel his fingers soft circle that secret little button you’ve always been too afraid to mess with. You’re a panting mess and you’re giving into whatever feels good at the moment, and you can’t help the way your hips move in tandem with his fingers, as it was simultaneously too much yet not enough. Though you quickly learn what is too much when you feel not one but two of his fingers within you and start going at a steady rhythm, all the while the palm of his hand continually rubs at that button.
You’ve long since given into the depravity of this act, but you’re still grateful that Elvis has the judgment to try to muffle your wanton shrieks with his sweet kisses. So sweet that it stands in sharp contrast to the lewd things his hands are doing between your thighs. All too soon, just as you’re getting used to that stretched feeling does he pull his hands free and you let out a needy sob as you’re left feeling achingly empty.
He chuckles at your neediness, as he brings his hand up and you see for the first time the evidence of the long-dormant immodest side of yourself glistening on his fingers. Before you can even begin to feel the burn of shame, he sticks those fingers into his mouth and lets out a long-satisfied hum, and you find yourself burning in a different way.
“You’re so sweet darlin’,” he whispers against your lips and you’re helpless to do nothing but open your mouth to have a taste.
You think you know what to expect next, until he makes a show moving down your body until he’s crouched down between your legs and gathers all the excess wetness between your thighs with his tongue. Your confusion is apparently evident as he takes a moment to pause and look you in the eye as with that trademark devilish smirk on his lips as he dives straight to the source of your heat.
None of your friends had ever described anything close to this, or if they did they failed to mention how wonderful it would feel. Your back arches almost entirely off the bed, as your thighs reflexively box in his head, and you’re moaning freely at the sensation of it. His tongue quickly replaces his thumb at the sensitive bundle of nerves, and with the fingers that were already going at a steady rhythm inside of you, you’re a goner.
After you come down from that euphoric peak, you’ll apologize to him for all the embarrassing noises you made. He’ll quiet you with a kiss, and you shudder at the more potent taste of yourself. “Y/N, you’re one a the few people in those whole fucked up world who can’t hide how they feel. It’s why you’re gon’ be mine,” his dark rasp only adds to the bliss you’re feeling, as he gives you a soft kiss.
He pulls away from you once your breath has steadied somewhat. In spite of how tired you were, you still wanted to know more, now that you’ve come this far.
You go a bit wide-eyed when you see him unbuckle his pants and you see in person for the first time what makes girls and boys so different. You have done a bit of exploring on your own, and you understood from what Old Mrs’ Sack’s birds and the bees talk, that boys have something like that, but you didn’t ever realize that it could be so big. Your mouth is dry as you speak, “How… how is that going to fit?”
Even in the low lighting of the bedroom, you can still make out his dazzling smile before he gives you a soft kiss to your nose. “You don’t gotta worry ‘bout that sweetheart,” he says as he cups your chin. “This is the most natural thing in the world. You were made to take me like this darlin’.” You don’t fully understand why that gets a particularly wanton moan out of you, but you don’t fight it. “Just lay back and relax baby girl, and I’m gonna make you feel so good,” he promises, taking a nibble of your earlobe.
You follow his orders and lay amongst the pillows as his strong hands align your hips with his. There is a burning sensation below as you feel the head, and he gives you a moment to adjust, and you bite harder into your lip, until he takes his thumb and gently removes it from between your teeth to give you a sweet kiss.
“I wanna hear ya’ baby,” he says, his lips brushing against yours, as he starts to slowly push forward.
And forward.
And forward.
And forward.
Until you finally feel all of him, long and oddly heavy, fully sheathed within you. You fight back your tears, but his gentle kisses along your face and praises in your ear as to how good you’re being all make the experience far more bearable. He shifts ever so slightly within you, causing a particularly filthy moan from you.
Elvis takes this as his signal to almost entirely remove himself, and your tiny whimpers are only quieted as he slams himself back into place. The suddenness of the act robbing you of a voice, and it would have scared you to death, were it not for his whispers asking if you trust him on this.
“I do,” is all you’re able to manage, and that seems to set him off like a switch. The hunger for you is apparent in his eyes and as he picks up the pace and you’re freely keening and whining, he plants his mouth on yours as though he wants to consume you entirely.
How can he move his hips like this, is perhaps your last coherent thought of the night as he continually rocks back into you. You, in vain, try to keep up with his thrusts, but your amateurish movements are quickly outmatched with his as he moves his hands on to your waist to move you in tandem with his and you love every single second of it, especially when he’s able to hit a particular spot within you that you never knew existed. That coil in your belly straining further and further, until it finally snaps and you let out an unrestrained cry to the heavens themselves.
He’s not too far behind you as his thrusts begin to sputter, until he finally stills and you wrap your legs around his hips, enjoying the pleasantly warm feeling of his seed within you.
You’re nothing more than a boneless heap after all was said and done, barely having enough strength to open your eyes. Elvis is able to maneuver you under the silky sheets with him and the wonderfully cool fabric is able to dissipate the last remnants of burning heat within you, allowing you to settle in his arms. You shiver as you feel yourself leaking on to a complete stranger's sheets, but you’re so tired right now you figure that that can be a problem for tomorrow.
You’re brought back to the land of the living when you feel the warm rays of the sun on your back, your eyes aching and your nether regions pleasantly sore. You don’t immediately do anything about your current state, wanting to bask in this feeling for a little while, though eventually the soft ticking sound of the clock radio reminds you of why you embarked on this adventure in the first place.
You shoot out of bed to see that you have most definitely missed your graduation ceremony by this point. You hang your head, and will yourself not to cry at the almost karmic punishment, you’ve been dealt. But you can hardly call it one because this is a direct result of your own actions.
And it is as you’re internally berating yourself for your willfulness, do you realize that Elvis is nowhere to be found. And that is truly the cherry on top to this awful sundae, knowing you spent a night with a charlatan in favor of getting what you want.
You feel used and humiliated, and it is as if you're trying to prevent the tears from flowing, do you see the attached bathroom, and realize that you’re in the master bedroom.
Oh dear lord, this is Mr. Presley’s room, you think while burying your face in your hands. You’re absolutely humiliated that you put yourself in this position and you worry as to how you’re going to get home. The solution before you is simple but it is far from an easy choice. It’s hardly a choice at all, considering that the alternative is sneaking off of the property and taking your chances walking home alone in nothing but a white silk robe you found.
And that’s how you find yourself aimlessly walking around a strangers home, and silently praying that they are charitable enough to take you home. Good humor or no, you doubt there is a world where Mr. Presley doesn’t look at daddy differently after this.
Once you’re downstairs do you finally come across a closed door with some sign of life behind it. You’re so desperate you don’t even hesitate in opening it only to be met with at least a dozen pairs of eyes on you, all of which were surrounding your missing lover, sitting with his feet propped up on a desk. “Ahh Y/N yer here just in time, why dontcha come on in?” he half sings to you, patting his lap. You’re beyond confused by this point that you don’t even think twice about doing so, instead focusing on making sure that your robe stays closed. “Sonny, go get ‘em.” you hear from him, as he puts his feet down on to the floor and brings his hands outward to you, and with all of the eyes on you, you comply.
He sits you on his lap, and you can hardly begin to comprehend what’s happening, before you hear a big commotion somewhere in the house, that only seems to be getting closer. You see the men begin to set down a tarp on the floor and you see a row of weapons all sitting casually before you on the desk before you. Panic begins to set in as you see Elvis for the first time in the light of day, and his deranged focus is solely on you.
“Elvis what is going on here?” you question, tears in your eyes, his firm grip making escape impossible.
“I’m gettin’ what I’m owed sweetheart,” he whispers, as the door bursts open and you see two men throw a third to the tarped floor face first. You almost don’t recognize him at first, as you can’t comprehend why he would be here, but eventually there is no denying it.
“Daddy?” you say forcibly pulling yourself off of him to try to get to him. Some of the men hold you back as you see Elvis saunter his way over to him before you can.
Elvis says as he crouches down to where your daddy was forced to his knees, and forcefully pulls your daddy’s head back by his hair to face you directly. “You wanna tell her Johnny boy, or should I?”
Your daddy sputters, eyes darting between you and ELvis once again, before he looks down and tries to say. “Gem, I-I… I don’t kno-”
“You lyin’ sack a shit!” Elvis explosively cuts him off producing a gun from his waist. “Tell the fuckin’ truth to your daughter,” he says pressing a gun to your daddy’s temple. Your daddy looks devastated at his words, his mouth opening and closing, apparently choking on his own words as he looks between you and Elvis.
You’re frozen in place at that moment, too scared of the man you thought you knew, and too scared for the man you thought you knew.
“Y/N, I-I…” he looks close to tears, something you’ve never seen on his face before. “I-I been workin’ for Elvis-”
An ominous click, cuts him off, and the man in question sneers “try again.”
Your daddy audibly gulped at this point. “I’ve been handlin’ the money for Mr. Presley here for almost ten years,” he says in a low whisper.
That sort of answers some questions, but you can hardly figure out what this has to do with you. But hearing who exactly Mr. Presley, is and that you spent the night with him is incomprehensible.
“After,” he pauses to take a steadying breath. “After your Mama passed, I-I needed all the help I could get, and… and… I took more than my fair cut.” he says his eyes closed, avoiding looking at your face, as he takes a steadying breath. “Last year, when he found out what I was doin’, I tried ru-running with you.”
“A liar, a thief, and a fuckin’ coward, is what you got for a daddy Y/N,” Elvis japes. “It’s a literal fuckin’ miracle you came out so perfect doll,” he says as he gently brushes your cheek with his knuckles. You would have recoiled, had it not been for the very present fear you had for this man and the gun still pointed at your daddy’s head.
“Whe-when found us he gave me one last chance to settle. He made me a deal there, that he would forgive me if I… if I…Promised him…” his lip is trembling by this point and he can’t even look at you.
“Daddy… What did you promise him?” You say in a small voice, having a sneaking suspicion and praying to god that you’re not proven right.
“Baby, I-I’ve done some bad things in my life, but I did it all for you,” he says looking down, the tears streaking down his face. “I-I promised him… you.”
You step as far away back as the desk allows you to, and your knees almost give in beneath you at what you just heard. Because there is absolutely no way that he had just said what he did. You can’t believe it, but the more you think about it the more things begin to make sense. WHy your freedom has been limited in the past year. Why your daddy made you focus especially on learning Spanish this past year. WHy you weren’t allowed with any boys.
“One year, Johnny,” Elvis says, interrupting your spiral. He is holding up a single finger in front of your daddy’s face as he continues, “That’s how long I gave you to get her used to the idea. And you fucked it up, for not just yourself but for her. And I gotta find out last minute, that you been wasting it planning another fucking trip?”
“I couldn’t go through with it,” daddy pleads. “Please I-I’ll get the money, I’ll do whatever I gotta, just please let her go!”
“Now how the hell am I supposed to trust that? You already backed out of a deal once, how the hell am I supposed to trust this one?” Elvis asks him as he walks away from him and towards you, while daddy has the decency to look ashamed. “Now lucky for you, your daughter ain’t nothin’ like you, Johnny,” his tone is almost reverent as he speaks of you. “And I don’t believe she’s in the business of makin’ promises she won’t keep, right sweetheart?”
“Elvis… I don’t understand,” you say with tears in your eyes.
“It’s real simple baby,” Elvis says. “I’m given’ you a choice. Walk away and your daddy pays back what he stole the hard way. Or,” he says cupping your cheek far too tenderly for what he’s about to offer. “Be my wife and your daddy can go free.”
It’s hardly a decision for you at that point. Because for as mad as you are at him, that’s your daddy and you could never wish him harm. But there is a burning question, in the back of your mind, and you know whatever the answer is, it’s going to hurt. And yet the newly discovered masochist within you demands an answer.
“How much?”
“What?”
“I need a number,” you declare, “How much was my life worth daddy?”
He looks heartbroken as to how you view the situation, but really how else can you look at it? Your daddy took money from a dangerous man, and now, said man is looking for what he paid for. Nevertheless he lowers his head and he mumbles out a number.
The number he gives is large, but it’s still not nearly enough for what you thought your life was worth in your mind. Your father hangs his head in shame, evidently knowing you well enough to know how much he’s hurt you.
You can hardly call what you had a proper wedding, Elvis is cruel enough to make you go through the motions of it in the still somewhat setup backyard. You’re put into a beautiful white dress that fits like a glove, and handed a gorgeous bouquet, and you’re only a little disturbed by the fact that the dress is perfectly tailored or that these are your favorite flowers. Though these quickly leave your mind as you see your father at the bottom of the steps.
A part of you wanted to refuse your father and walk yourself down the aisle. That petty part, wanting to further twist the knife of his future exile by denying him this near sacred final right of a father to be able to do so. But the better part of you prevails as for as much as you want to be seen as a fully grown woman, you still very much feel like a little girl who needs to hold her daddy’s hand in a scary situation. And this is undoubtedly the scariest thing you’ve ever done.
Which only further burns as you’re reminded that you’re in this situation because of him.
Your father walks you down the makeshift aisle of the backyard with a busted lip and a vacant look in his eyes to match your own. For as mad as you are at him, you don’t want him to be hurt or worse for what he did. That doesn’t mean you want to have to look at him anymore.
Your daddy was an accountant, but as you signed your name on that marriage license, you realize you aren’t an accountant's daughter any more. And just like that you’re a proper married woman.
After the ceremony, there is only a small reception to follow, with those closest to your new husband having been invited. Evidently your father didn’t make the cut, which may be for the best as you doubt you will even be able to look at him right now as Elvis sits you on his lap while all of his men dole out congratulations to the two of you.
Later on when you’re alone with him you will beg Elvis for a reason that isn’t just some power trip over your father or that he truly believes that you were something worth the amount that your father took from him. You’re willing to believe anything at this point.
“Oh baby, you don’t gotta worry one bit,” he reassures you while kissing away your tears. “If this was about money, I woulda taken what he offered way back when. But no I’ve loved ya’ since Texas.”
“But why?” you cry.
“Because of that satnin,” he says. “You’re a rare breed these days: honest. I knew it since the moment I saw ya’ that you were what I needed in my life.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you can’t lie for shit. Especially not to me.” he says, planting kisses along your newly exposed skin. “I know I chose the perfect wife for me.”
Would you have chosen him if given the choice? You don’t know. You may never know, but if growing up a not-accountant’s daughter has taught you anything is how to take what you’re given and be grateful for it.
Ending note: I was 9k in when I realized I pulled a “I sold you to one direction,” Welp that’s the way it goes sometimes.
Taglist
@venus-haze @djsjs13949 @ilovehobi101 @butlerslut @richardslady121 @giabelia @sydneyyyya @meetme0614 @tacozebra051 @myradiaz @thelifes-world @maythesunshineagain @rakitirakiti @lostteenagetale @j-v-9-2 @eliseinmemphis @dkayfixates @immi547 @thatbanditqueen @marriedtoeddie @cuteejeno @itlover8000 @isthlsfate @mgparker @thatbanditqueen
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Falling Apart
Austin!Elvis Presley x Reader
Warnings: Angst, Mention of Drugs being taken, Drugs, Mention of Drinking Alcohol, Divorce, Depressed Elvis, Yelling/Fighting, Elvis having a meltdown on stage, Colonel trying to manipulate Reader, Mention of Elvis collapsing, Fluff at the end, and Maybe some Grammar Errors. (Sorry if I forgot any!!!)
Summary: Due the Colonel making Elvis take a bunch of drugs to keep him energized to perform, it’s making Elvis completely fall apart. It get’s even worse when Pricilla packs all of her stuff up and leaves Elvis taking their daughter with her. After Elvis’s dad’s assistant Y/N hears the news she does everything she can to help Elvis pull himself back together.
Word Count: 2,162
Author’s Note: FINALLY MY FIRST ELVIS MOVIE STORY IS HERE! I’ve been waiting for basically a year to finally get a plot for a story for one of my favorite movies of all time! This isn’t just my first Austin/Elvis story but this is also my first story of the new year so I hope you all enjoy! If any of you want to you can read this as Elvis x Reader or Austin!Elvis x Reader! It’s up to you!!
Y/N Y/L/N is the assistant to Vernon Presley who is of course the father of the one and only Elvis Presley. Vernon is in charge of Presley Enterprises. Vernon hired Y/N to be his assistant when Elvis came home from the army. Due to all of the films Elvis was staring in at the time it was getting too hard for Vernon to take care of everything by himself so that’s why he hired Y/N.
When Y/N got the job, she wasn’t expecting to be around Elvis so much. Of course, Y/N isn’t complaining since Elvis has brought her in with open arms and so did his wife Priscilla. Elvis has thanked Y/N so much for helping his father out.
Y/N would be lying if she said that she has never had a crush on the heartthrob. When Elvis first started out Y/N immediately grew a crush on him, but that crush did fade away after she graduated from high school and when Elvis went overseas to be in the army. But as time went on that crush returned and the more, she was around Elvis, the more the crush grew. Y/N wished she didn’t feel that way about Elvis since he’s married to Priscilla, and she is really good friends with Priscilla as well. But those thoughts just flood her mind whenever she is with him.
Y/N loved everything about her job except having to work with the Colonel who is the manager of Elvis. Ever since the first day she met the Colonel she knew he wasn’t very fond of her. She hated being around him since she always feels uncomfortable around him, and she always gets bad vibes from him.
But Y/N didn’t see the Colonel’s dark side till Elvis started to play a residency in Las Vegas.
********************
Y/N was at her apartment getting ready to meet Vernon at a business meeting. Right before she walked out the door, she heard her phone ring. When she answered the phone, she heard Vernon’s voice.
“Hi, I was just about to walk out the door to meet you.” Y/N said into the phone. “Priscilla left Elvis this morning.” She heard Vernon tell her which made her heart drop. “Oh my gosh.” Y/N said in a shocked tone. Even though she’s shocked by the news she knew the reason why Priscilla left. “She moved all of her stuff out and she took Lisa with her.” She heard Vernon tell her. She could hear the sadness in his voice. “How is Elvis?” Y/N asked in the phone. That was the only question that was coming to her mind. “He’s a complete mess.” She heard him tell her which broke her heart.
“Can you go to Graceland and just stay there with him till I come back from the meeting?” Vernon asked her. “I just really don’t want him to be alone right now.” He added. “Of course, I can.” Y/N answered into the phone.
“Thank you so much dear.” She heard him say. “I’ll talk to you soon.” He added which made her smile a little. “You’re welcome. I’ll talk to you soon.” She told him through the phone. After they said their goodbyes Y/N hung up the phone.
********************
Y/N parked her car in front of the big Graceland mansion. She turned the car off and grabbed her purse from the passenger seat. She got out of the car closing the driver's seat door. As Y/N made her way to the front door she wrapped the strap of her purse around her shoulder.
When she got to the door, she rang the doorbell and waited but no one answered so she rang the doorbell again but still no answer. Y/N put her hand on the doorknob and twisted it which made the door open. Y/N walked inside the mansion. “Elvis!” Y/N called out as she closed the door. She looked around and noticed that things that belonged to Priscilla were gone. Y/N let out a sigh she she walked into the dining room and put her keys and purse down onto the table.
“Elvis!” Y/N called out again as she walked over to the bottom of the staircase and again, she got no response. She knew Elvis had to be home because where else would he go. Y/N walked up the staircase and right when she got to the top, she heard whimpering. Y/N walked down the hallway and stopped in front of the door to what was the bedroom Elvis once shared with Priscilla. That was where the whimpering was coming from. She was going to knock on the door, but something was telling her to just walk in.
When she opened the door, she saw a bunch of medicine bottles on the floor. Y/N walked in and at first, she didn’t see Elvis till she walked past the king-sized bed. Elvis was sitting on the floor crying into his knees that were hiding his face. It broke Y/N’s heart seeing Elvis in this kind of state. “Elvis.” Y/N said in a soft voice. Elvis looked up at her with his eyes filled with tears and his cheeks soaked with tears running down them. “What are you doing?” Elvis asked her. She could hear how broken he was in his voice. “Your father wanted me to be here with you till he comes back from his business meeting.” Y/N told him. Elvis didn’t say anything back. He just looked away from her.
Y/N sat down next to him. “I’m so sorry about what happened.” Y/N told him with sincere in her voice. “Why are you saying sorry to me?” Elvis asked still not looking at her. “What do you mean?” Y/N asked him. “I’m the reason why she left. She said I’m like a zombie.” Elvis told her as tears continued to stream down his face like a waterfall. “Those pills are what turn you like that.” Y/N told him which made him finally look back at her.
She can’t just keep jumping around it anymore. When he’s on those pills it’s like he’s a completely different person. Those pills are making him fall apart.
“The pills. They just keep controlling me. It’s like they have taken over me.” Elvis told her as he started to cry harder if that was even possible. “I know.” Y/N started. “That’s why I’m here. I’m going to help you get through this.” Y/N told him looking him straight into his eyes. Elvis believed her as he stared back into her eyes. “Okay.” Elvis said in a soft voice.
“I’m going to go downstairs into the kitchen to get you some water.” Y/N told him but before she could stand up, he grabbed her hand. “Please, don’t leave me. Please stay with me.” Elvis said to her in a pleading tone. “Okay! Okay, I’ll stay here with you.” Y/N told him in reassurance. Y/N wrapped her arm around him and rubbed her hand up and down his arm as he cried.
They stayed like that till Vernon came home.
********************
As a lot of time pasted Y/N kept her promise to Elvis. She’s been looking after him as much as she could. Even though Y/N has been doing her best to take care of Elvis, he’s still not the man he once was.
The only time Elvis looks happy is when he is on stage in front of his fans. The only people that knew what he was going through were the people he sees every day.
Elvis was playing another show in Vegas. Y/N watching him perform from the side of the stage with Jerry by her side. “You’ve been very quiet this evening.” Jerry said to her which earned him a glare from her. “You know damn well why I’ve been quiet.” Y/N told him in a stern tone. “The Colonel came before I could call you and right away, he made Dr. Nick shoot him up with drugs.” Jerry explained to her. “I’m not mad at you, okay!” Y/N told him with a heavy sigh. “He should be in a hospital bed but instead that monster decided to make the decision to shoot him up with the same drugs that is what made him collapse in the first place.” Y/N said with anger in her tone.
Jerry saw the tears forming in her eyes, so he brought her in for a hug. He knows about the feelings she has for Elvis, so he knows it’s hard seeing him like this. As Y/N returned the hug she tried her best to keep her tears in.
They released from the hug when they heard Elvis singing to Suspicious Minds with no music. Y/N could sense right away that something was wrong, and it was just going to get worse. As Elvis went on a rant about how this was going to be his last show in Vegas the Colonel immediately made his way up to the stage.
“Pull the curtain down!” Colonel told someone in a demanding tone which made Y/N and Jerry look at him. “What is going on here.” Colonel asked Jerry in a stern tone. Jerry took a glance at Elvis and then back at the Colonel. “I think he wants to know that, too.” Jerry told him.
When Elvis saw the Colonel started to act even more out of character. Elvis was having a melt down and it was starting to scare Y/N a little since she’s never seen him act like this. As the curtain started to fall Elvis started to yell at the Colonel. When Elvis said, “You’re Fired!” to the Colonel Y/N felt her heart rate speed up.
As the Colonel walked closer to him, he just kept saying “you’re fired” louder and louder each time. “YOU’RE FIRED!” Elvis screamed into his microphone which made everyone, and everything go silent. Everyone looked at Elvis with shock as the Colonel looked at him with sadness. “You’re fired.” Elvis said more calm and not into the microphone.
When he dropped his microphone, it made Y/N jump by the loud noise the mic made when it hit the stage. She watched him turn away from the Colonel and walk off the stage.
********************
Y/N decided to wait an hour before going up to Elvis’s room to check on him. Y/N was walking down the hallway to the elevator when she felt someone grab her left wrist. Y/N turned around to see that it was the Colonel who grabbed her wrist.
“Let me go.” Y/N told him in a demanding tone. “You go up there and tell him to take me back.” Colonel told her in the same tone she used. He knew she was going upstairs to talk to Elvis. Y/N let out a scoff as she pulled her wrist out of his grip. “You are the reason why he’s falling apart!” Y/N told him. “You’re the reason why he’s hooked on all of those drugs and you’re the reason why Pricilla and Lisa left him!” Y/N added as she looks at him with a fiery look in her eyes.
“Do it or you’re fired!” Colonel told her in a warning tone. “You’re not the boss of me and you never were.” Y/N said not back down to him. “You stay the hell away from him!” Y/N told him in a warning voice and walked away from him.
********************
When Y/N got to Elvis’s room before she could knock on the door it opened to reveal Elvis. “When I heard footsteps, I figured that it was you coming to check on me.” Elvis told her letting her inside. Y/N could tell that he was more calmed down then what he was just an hour ago. “I was going to come up here right away, but I decided to let you cool off.” Y/N told him while he closed the door.
“I’m sorry that you had to see me like that. I guess I just lost control.” Elvis told her turning around to face her but didn’t look at her. “Elvis, you have nothing to be sorry about.” Y/N told him. She put one of her hands onto one of his cheeks which made his eyes meet hers. “It was the drugs and that shot of alcohol didn’t help either but that’s what made you lose it.” Y/N reassured him.
“But what you did right was you set yourself free from that monster.” Y/N told him stroking his cheek lightly with her thumb. “I didn’t want him taking you away from me, too.” Elvis told her.
Before she could say anything, Elvis’s lips connected with hers. Y/N immediately returned the kiss. They continued to kiss until they had to pull away for air.
“I think I’m falling in love with you.” Elvis confessed to her. Y/N’s lips curved up into a smile. “Me too.” Y/N told him and leaned back up to reconnect her lips with his soft lips again.
#austin butler#austin butler x reader#austin butler imagine#Austin butler one shot#Austin butler angst#Austin butler fluff#austin butler x you#austin butler x fem!reader#austin butler x y/n#austin!elvis x reader#austin!elvis fanfiction#austin!elvis x y/n#austin!elvis fic#austin!elvis fluff#Austin!elvis angst#Elvis#elvis presley#elvis movie#baz luhrmann elvis#baz luhrmann#elvis 2022#elvis presley x reader#Elvis movie fanfic#austin butler fanfiction#Austin!elvis#Austin!elvis Presley
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you saved me
pairings: austin!elvis x reader
summary: elvis comforts his baby while suffering the guilt of almost allowing the worst thing to happen to a girl.
warnings: heavy topics including the aftermath of sexual assault and rape, mentions of elvis’ bloody hands (due to beating the reader’s abuser half to death) angst, comfort)
rating: M (for allusions of sexual abuse)
word count: 704
note: this is not a light read. as the reader, you may experience things you really don’t want to with this scenario. please read with caution and a sound mind. this is a warning for people who are sensitive to the topic of sexual assault or rape. i want the reader to know that rape or domestic violence is absolutely disgusting. although i did not write specifically about domestic violence, i want the audience to read this and see the ugliness that can come with such related topics.
elvis ran towards you faster than lightning. he dropped to his knees on the hard cement and held you. “no no no doll look at me.. baby, baby, oh my god i’m so sorry i couldn’t-” tears began to form in his eyes. he quickly removed his coat and wrapped it around you like a blanket to keep you from freezing. you were so relieved to see him that you basically fainted into his arms. elvis started to sob against your cheek. “i’m so, so sorry baby doll.”
your body was bruised and positioned in an uncomfortable angle, so with extreme care, elvis gently moved your body so that he could pick you up bridal style. his tears never stopped falling as he cradled you in his arms towards his cadillac. your eyes fluttered open and closed with exhaustion.
elvis placed you softly in the backseat. he stared at you, contemplating what he ought to do. to stay with you in the back and hold you? that’s what he wanted to do the most. but his logic demanded he do otherwise. he knew he should take you to the hospital. with so many scrapes, scratches and bruises, he knew that it would be better to take you to the hospital to be treated. but elvis wanted to make them go away himself; he wanted to lament. he wanted to stay on his knees and beg you to forgive him, and be denied. but now was not the time. he thought you were knocked out, so he wiped his soaked cheeks and got out to get to the driver’s seat to take you to the hospital, but you grabbed onto your boyfriend’s lace shirt weakly before he could close to door. “please don’t leave me,” you muttered.
“doll!” elvis immediately picked you up again and sat in the back, cradling you against his chest. he rested his face against your head, his arms and hands wrapped around you protectively, tightly, but gently. he felt a pang of extreme guilt that he couldn’t rescue you, but he was relieved that you were not in worse condition. still, he would never be able to forgive himself for not being there for you when you needed him to protect you the most.
“i’m..so..” he whimpered, “sorry i couldn’t protect you, baby.”
“don’t cry…” you whispered as you weakly attempted to wipe the tears off his face. this only made him sob harder. this wasn’t like elvis. he never cried like this. he’s never felt so defeated in his entire life. but he’s here, and he’s sobbing now because you’ve been wounded so badly. “you did save me…you saved me from…the worst thing that could ever happen to a girl.”
“but he still touched you, doll. i can’t - i can’t believe that bastard - i can’t believe i - god damn it..” he sniffled and couldn’t finish his sentence. it pained you more to see elvis suffering this much more than the pain that horrific events gave to you. he picked up his phone with shaking bloodied hands and dialed a number. “jerry. i need ya to come get me. come right now. y/n…she’s…ugh…her friends said she was at this party but she suddenly disappeared, so i came and she’s hurt, someone hurt my little girl. i need ya to come drive. hurry.” after elvis hung up, he buried his face against you, rounding his whole body around you protectively.
“you saved me, elvis,” you whispered into his ear. “i love you. thank you for saving me.”
“i love you more than anything in this world.” he looked into your eyes with a thousand years worth of apologies before leaving a kiss on your forehead. he carefully stroked your hair away from your face as he continued staring into your eyes. “i’ll protect you with my life. i’ll give you my life if it’ll keep you breathing. i’ll never let you get hurt like this again baby,” he whispered against your forehead. elvis held you until you fell asleep in his arms. time passed, and you later heard familiar young male voices, and you remembered the feeling of soft warmth and comfort protecting your body the whole night through.
#elvis#elvis headcanons#elvis presley headcannons#elvis x reader#elvis x y/n#elvis movie#austin!elvis angst#austin!elvis x reader#austin butler#elvis presley#elvis 2022#elvis presley fanfiction#austin butler fic#angst#angst/comfort#austin!elvis
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Puppet on a string
Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader (can be Austin!Elvis as well)
Word count: 3,2K
Warning(s): cheating, BIG age gap (14 years), toxic relationship, reader was underaged when they met, slight abuse? (he grabs her arm once), elvis being an asshole dominant, reader is naive and in love, smoking, teeny tiny smut (if you squint real hard), angst, my shitty writing.
Author’s note: This is a pretty heavy piece of writing and can be triggering to people, so I advice to really read the warnings. Some things in this were inspired by Priscilla’s book, and some things were made up by myself. Enjoy, babies <3
‘‘Don’t you think nineteen is too young to be played by your dark twisted games when I loved you so? I should’ve known.’’
The carpet of your shared bedroom with your boyfriend of two years burned underneath the soles of your bare feet as you paced back and forth. The crumbled up piece of paper between your fingertips felt heavy in your left hand, the mix of emotions that were running through you making your head spin.
Once again you had found something that indicated that the man you loved more than life itself had been unfaithful to you. Sometimes it would be a pair of panties you’d find in the pocket of his slacks when you were folding his clothes, or the smell of perfume on his collar that didn’t belong to you. This time it was a telegram you found neatly folded in a shoe box when you were reorganizing your shared wardrobe.
Last night was amazing, miss you already. x A
You had no idea how long the message had been there or when it had been sent, but deep down inside, you weren’t even surprised anymore.
It has been this way for as long as you could remember and being hopelessly in love, you ignored the warnings and red flags that were right under your nose. You ignored your family and friends’ worries, even ignored your mama when she accused you of losing your mind. Not only were you stepping into a relationship with a 31 year old man at the young age of 17, you were stepping into a world that was completely foreign to you. Now, two years later, you still weren’t used to the screaming and flirting girls who got too close to your man, or the amount of people that were always coming in and out of Graceland. It was hard to get a moment alone with Elvis other than late at night in your bedroom ─ people were always trying to get his attention, getting him to spend time with them, and he happily went along with it.
You felt like you were being pushed to the background of his life and it made you grow jealous and suspicious. You didn’t mind the guys coming over to the house and would often hang out with them yourself, but you hated whenever random girls came along after nights out. Elvis always assured you they were more interested in the other guys than him, but he’d also tell you to not make up things in that ‘’pretty little head of yours’’.
He had a way with words and he always knew what to say to make you think you were seeing things that weren’t there.
Elvis Presley was the greatest manipulator that you had ever met, but you just couldn’t seem to shake him off.
The sound of a car door slamming shut visibly startled you and made you stop pacing, walking over to the window instead. Pulling the curtain aside, you saw Elvis including entourage walking up the steps that led to the front door and your heart skipped a beat, looking down at the telegram that you were still squeezing in your hand. The silence in the house was interrupted by the men entering and you quickly folded the paper, shoving it in your bra before leaving the bedroom and descending the staircase.
You feigned a bright smile at the men, hopping over to your boyfriend to plant a kiss on his lips. You were still angry, still planning on confronting him even though you knew that never ended well, but right now you were too nervous. You wouldn’t do it in front of other people and even though Elvis seemed to be in a good mood, you were also aware of how fast that could change.
The house was full of people for the most part of the late afternoon and evening, and you hated it. You were trying to act normal but after dinner was over, you were getting impatient.
Elvis was still sitting at the head of the table, telling stories and puffing on his cigar. He had everyone hanging onto his every word, even though they have all heard his stories a million times before. When the door bell rang, you gave up on your idea to confront him about the telegram and leaned your forearms on the table, sighing deeply as you took a sip of your wine. You felt Elvis’ eyes burning on the side of your face, but you ignored it, already knowing he’d have a lot to say about the way you were acting later tonight.
Jerry got up from the table to open the door, returning with a ginger haired beauty on his side. Hour glass figure, crystal blue catlike eyes and red stifted lips. Even you were taken back by her presence for a second and it didn’t seem like you were the only one.
As Jerry introduced her to everyone in the room as Donna, a close friend of his, Elvis was up and out of his seat, pulling a chair back at the table for her. Donna fluttered her eyelashes at him as she thanked him and sat down and you immediately felt jealousy creeping into your veins, throat tightening up. You were not going to cry, not in front of everyone at the dining table.
Elvis returned to his seat next to you, lazily slouching his arm on the backrest of your chair.
‘‘What is that perfume you’re wearin’, doll? Smells real good,’’ he said and as you turned your head to look at him, his eyes weren’t on you. No, they were on Donna, those stupid beautiful plumb lips of his turned up into a smirk.
‘‘Oh why, thank you. It’s Chanel Number Five,’’ she replied, smiling sweetly his way and you clenched your jaw, forehead frowning in annoyance.
It was the exact same perfume you were wearing and the only time he ever complimented you on it was when he bought it for you.
Elvis looked at you, lifting his hand to let his index finger tap your forehead, a silent warning to make you relax your face again. He often did things like that. Whenever he noticed you were slouching when walking, he’d comment on it, remind you it wasn’t ladylike. He picked out most of your outfits when you’d be leaving the house with him, making sure you looked appropiate enough to uphold his image.
Whenever he didn’t like the way you applied your make-up or did your hair, he’d make you go back upstairs and redo it until it was done right. To his taste. You knew that the relationship you found yourself tangled in was unhealthy, to some even toxic, but you were young and in love.
Stupidly so.
‘‘Anythin’ on your mind, honey?’’ He whispered to you and you squeezed the hem of your dress underneath the table when you felt his hot breath against your cheek.
Even though you couldn’t see, you knew your knuckles were turning white in your lap. You hated that no matter how angry you were, or how heart broken you felt whenever you found something that belonged to another female, he still had this effect on you. Making your heart leap in your chest, blood running straight to your cheeks.
Elvis was also aware of the power he had over you and he used that power against you more times than he should, and more times than you liked to admit.
‘‘You’re lookin’ a little flushed. Are you getting sick?’’ he questioned softly, the combination of his deep voice and the back of his hand pressing against the side of your neck not helping the current state you were in at all.
You could smell the smoke of the cigar burning right behind your head where it still hung between his fingertips, his arm not leaving the back of the chair even though ashes were threatening to spill to the floor. You cleared your throat a little and reached for your glass, taking a few small sips, hoping the alcohol would distract you. The only thing it did was making you even hotter than you already were.
You decided to turn your head to Elvis and look him straight in the eye.
Big mistake.
His eyes were boring right back into yours, teasing eyebrow raised, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Your fingertips clenched around your glass which was still in your hand and swallowed at the feeling of butterflies errupting throughout your entire body. In hindsight, those should’ve been a warning to you all along, but ofcourse.. you ignored them.
When it came to Elvis, you ignored everyone and everything. Like a magnet he pulled you in and kept you right where he wanted to, as if you were a puppet on a string.
His puppet.
‘‘N-no,’’ you said, hoping he missed the way you stammered. He didn’t, but did not comment on it.
‘‘I’m just feeling tired. I think the wine’s getting to my head,’’ you lied, letting out a small laugh and he hummed softly, leaning forward to capture your lips in a kiss. It only lasted a few seconds, but it was long enough to make you forget you had been angry with him in the first place. And it completely made you forget about the folded telegram that was still hidden in your bra.
‘‘Let’s go to bed,’’ he whispered, moving away from you and even though it felt as if you were able to breathe normally again, you already missed the force of his presence close to you.
He pushed his cigar out in one of the ash trays that was closest to him on the table and took your hand into his, getting up. Everyone at the table immediately turned their heads, looking at him questionably. They were waiting for his word, for his approval to be allowed to stay or not.
He granted it to them, telling Jerry to not let things get out of hand too much. The other man gave him a nod and you gave Jerry a soft smile, ignoring the way Elvis squeezed Donna’s shoulder when he pulled you along with him out of the dining room.
You followed him upstairs and into your bedroom, stepping out of the pumps you had been wearing the moment since he came home. Elvis’ arms were wrapped around your waist from behind before you could even make it to your shared bed, his lips attached hungrily to your neck. Your hands grabbed onto his as your eyes met your own in the full length mirror you two were in front of.
With your cheeks flushed and lips parted, you almost didn’t recognize the girl staring back at you.
As a little girl you always dreamed of meeting a man that would care for you, loved you and only you. A man that didn’t just see you as a doll to dress up and prance around with in public. You had always wanted so much more than that.
You wanted more from Elvis, but you knew that was nothing more than wishful thinking.
As his hands moved up to your breasts and his tongue flicked at your earlobe, you realised that you’d rather live a lie than lose him.
The moment his hand squeezed your right breast, you heard the crunch of the paper underneath your clothing. It was absolutely deafening when you were reminded of the telegram.
Elvis heard it too and his hands came to a stop, as did his kisses.
He lifted his head out of your neck and looked at you through the mirror, laughing softly as he raised his eyebrows.
‘‘What’s that?’’ he questioned and maybe if your face hadn’t heated up and maybe if your eyes hadn’t widened in slight panic, he would’ve believed you when you told him it was probably just the tag you forgot to cut out of the piece of lingerie.
He wasn’t an idiot, unfortunately for you.
‘‘You’re lyin’,’’ he simply stated, stepping back and turning you around with his hands on your shoulders.
‘‘Take it off, Y/N,’’ he said, but to you it felt more like an order.
You didn’t miss the warning tone his voice held and you knew the best thing to do here was to just do as he said and take off your dress. But you were nailed to the ground, staring at him, throat tightening up as tears prickled at your eyes.
Once you’d undress, you were going to have to show him what you had hidden in there and he certainly was not going to be happy about that.
‘‘Elvis, it’s nothing. Let’s just go to bed, okay? I’m tired,’’ you said, trying to walk by him to get to the ensuite bathroom to wash up for bed, but you were pulled back by his rough hand.
You looked down at his fingers that were wrapped around your arm, digging into your skin painfully. ‘‘You’re hurting me,’’ you told him, panic obvious in your voice.
Never in your entire relationship had he laid a hand on you and when he saw a tear rolling down your cheek, your lower lip trembling, he realised what he had done. Immediately, he pulled his hand back and let go of your arm, but instead of apologizing he told you to undress again.
You rolled your eyes up to the ceiling, quickly wiping away the tear and trying to hold back the flood that was uncomfortably waiting to be released. You pulled down the side zipper of your dress and let the fabric fall down your arms and onto the ground, kicking it aside roughly.
Bringing your arms to your back, you unclasped your bra and threw it aside, catching the telegram in your hand as it fluttered down. Before he could snatch it out of your hand, you slapped the piece of paper against his chest and walked off into the bathroom, slamming the door shut with as much noise and strength you could muster.
Elvis’ movements were quick when he strided over to the door, swinging it back open before you had a chance to lock it. You didn’t hold back the sob that spilled out and your hands flew to your face, hiding from him as you turned around, hunching over the sink.
You didn’t know how things had gotten this bad and why you were allowing it to get this far. You didn’t even know who you were anymore, other than Elvis Presley’s girlfriend. You didn’t have a job, no plans for college, no money of your own. You just sat in this big house looking all pretty, waiting for your man to come back home and give you attention. And even that was not always garantueed.
You needed a way out, go back to your parents and find out who you really were. You had to run ─ away from Graceland, away from people that would give you nasty looks for holding the hand of the man they idolized, away from Elvis.
But as soon as you felt his arms wrapping around you and his lips were in your hair, you were right back to zero.
You allowed yourself to be pressed against his firm chest, letting him squeeze you in his embrace as if he was afraid you could disappear into thin air any second now. With your face still in your hands, you only cried harder.
‘‘Sssh, baby. It’s alright,’’ he whispered, consoling you by rubbing his hand up and down your back. The rings that adorned his fingers were cold against your heated skin and you pulled your face out of his chest, removing your hands. They remained on his chest, squeezing the fabric of his shirt in your palms.
‘‘The telegram is old, little one, from way back before I even met you. You don’t have to worry ‘bout a thing, okay?’’ he told you, gently taking your face in between his hands, his thumbs caressing away your tears.
‘‘What about.. What about the other things? I found panties in your back pocket last week, Elvis,’’ you said, feeling anger surface again as you pushed him backwards. You ran your hands through your hair, shaking your head as tears were still spilling down your cheeks. Cheeks puffy and eyes red, you looked at him.
He could see how exhausted you were, how broken you were, and it was all because of him.
He hated himself for being this way, and he hated for making you feel like this, but he wouldn't change. For no one.
‘‘Y/N baby, that’s.. nothing. None of ‘em mean anything to me,’’ he said, raising his voice a little, and you didn’t know whether it was to get his point across or to show dominance. To you, it was the latter.
He was a dominant person by nature ─ fucking Capricorns.
Stepping closer to you again, he grabbed onto your wrists and pulled you into his chest.
‘‘You’re the only one I love, Satnin. You’re my special little one and there’s no one that could compare to you,’’ he said, his voice coming back to a normal volume, a hint of determination lacing his tongue. He knew that by him calling you Satnin, he’d have you right in the palm of his hand. After his mother passed, you were the only one who he used the pet name with and it made you feel special.
It made you feel like you were the only girl in the whole wide world that he loved and cherished.
‘‘I’m sorry,’’ he whispered, letting go of your wrists and placing his hands back on your cheeks, pressing his lips softly against yours.
For a second, you contemplated on pushing him away and to have another go at him, maybe even threaten to leave him if he wouldn’t change his ways. But even if you did, you would not only be fooling him, but yourself too.
Because the truth was… you were never going to leave this man’s side, you were never going to leave Graceland. You found yourself tangled in a web you couldn’t get out of and when he was kissing you like this and holding you like you were a porcelain doll, you had no desire to leave anymore.
As usual, you turned to putty right under his touch, ready to do whatever he asked of you.
When he pulled back and looked into your eyes, you grabbed onto his wrists, clinging onto him for dear life. ‘‘Now dry those tears of yours and get ready for bed, so I can make it up to you,’’ he smiled softly and you felt your knees weakening at the sight.
Any other sane woman would’ve smacked him right across the face and tell him to stick it somewhere the sun don’t shine, but you were anything but sane. This blue eyed devil had you right under his thumb, dancing to his every tune like a puppet on a string.
And just like you had done for the past two years, you allowed him to.
If you hadn’t already, you learned that in order to be together with Elvis and for him to keep you by his side ─ it was best not to ask too many questions.
#elvis presley x reader#austin!elvis x reader#elvis presley angst#austin!elvis angst#elvis 2022#elvis presley#elvis#elvis fans#elvis presley fanfiction#austin!elvis smut#elvis presley smut#austin butler#tamwrites
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Red String
Before I see the comments, there will be no part two. I need to crank out these fics if I want to finish my ongoing stories. This idea came to me when I learned about the red string legend. I tweaked it ever so slightly, but the main concept still stands. This one is a weird one, and I hope you enjoy it!
Masterlist
Pairing: Elvis (Or Austin!Elvis) x Fem!Reader
Warnings: Swearing, Teasing, Some Angst, Spelling and Grammatical Errors. Some information regarding the legend may be false. Let me know if I missed anything!
Word Count: 2.1k
You looked down at your ankle and let out a sigh. No matter how hard you worked to try and shorten the distance, it never seemed to lead you to anything… or anyone. You were getting on in years and quite frankly, you were about to give up and cut your string. Which honestly, you weren’t sure if you could even do that.
The story of the red string was one that everyone grew up with. It was a way to explain why they had a red string attached to their ankle. One end was attached to yours, and the other end was attached to your soulmate’s ankle. Once your soulmate was found, the string would turn to gold and would turn into an anklet. It was to indicate you had found your soulmate.
Most people found their soulmate early on. Middle school early on, hell some even met them while they were still babies! Yet, here you were in your thirties, and still… no golden anklet. You’ve been asked so many times why you wouldn’t follow it to the other end. The answer was simple, by the time you reached your soulmate the string would rip. Greed is what breaks the soulmate bond.
You were supposed to find your soulmate off of some fate. You would bump into each other and you would mold. You watched your friends and family mold with their soulmates and you were tired. While no one has ever dared to cut their string. It is said that if you cut your string you give up all hope and chance. When you cut your string you give up the chance of ever having a soulmate.
It wasn’t like you wanted to give up. Heck no! You wanted to get married and have kids. You couldn’t do that without finding your soulmate. It was very rare that you saw two people together with red strings still. They were the rule breakers. The ones who didn’t care much for finding their soulmate. You wish you could have been like that.
“I need two cheeseburgers and fries for table five!” You told the cook and placed the menus in their dedicated spot.
“Coming up!” The cook responded and got to work. You leaned down over the counter and placed your chin in the palm of your hand. You looked around at the couples in the diner. Each and every one of them had their gold anklets. It wasn’t fair. How come they found their soulmate and you were still standing around like a lost puppy.
“How’s the soulmate hunting coming?” Sherrie asked as she came riding on by. You turned your head over to her.
“Well, I’m still tripping over my own red death so I would say… shitty.” You responded as you watched her skate around. She frowned and made her way over to you.
“Hey, one day he’ll show up and… it will be so magical… so romantic… And hopefully not embarrassing like mine was when I met Chris.” She let out a pout. You remembered the day. It was like any other day in the diner. Well, besides the fact she bumped into someone. Everyone here was practically skilled at skating so bumping into someone was weird.
“But isn’t meeting them supposed to be out of the blue? That’s why you can’t just follow your string.” You explained to her. In every single story you’ve heard or read about, soulmates found each other out of the blue. It was when they least expected it.
“Do you want to meet your soulmate while covered in burning hot coffee?” She raised her eyebrow at you. A soft laugh left your mouth and you shook your head. She had you there.
“Table five, order up!” The ding broke you out of your conversation. You skated over to pick up the order and brought it over to the couple. You asked if there was anything else you could bring them. When you heard that no response, you made your way back over to Sherrie.
“He helped you clean up though, and apologized a bunch. Your eyes met and…” you smiled softly, “and it was like you two knew. That was your magical moment.”
“Yeah… I guess you’re right.” She smiled as she remembered that meeting. You rolled your eyes playfully at her. After you two started to do some other tasks you heard a bunch of high-pitched screams. You turned your head towards the sound and found a multitude of girls crowded outside.
“What’s up with that?” You asked Sherrie. She raised her eyebrow in confusion as she looked outside.
“I have no idea,” she shrugged. You two decided to ignore the screams and got back to work. You cleaned up some of the tables and helped the customers. Pretty much what you did every day.
You looked over at the clock and did a mental celebration. It was your break, or at least it was about to be. Not only did you finally get to eat, but you only had half a day left. You announced to the other girls that you were going on your break and grabbed your lunch bag and headed out behind the building.
It was very rare that you ate food from the diner. The food there is amazing, but you just liked being able to make your own food. The cooks already had to make so much food, they shouldn’t have to cook for you too.
As you walked outside you shielded your eyes from the blasting sun. When your eyes adjusted to the new light you noticed a tall man standing over you. You let out a scream but it was soon concealed by his mouth.
“Please don’ yell,” The guy said. Okay, who the hell did this person think they were? Not only to be standing out behind your business of work but for putting his hands on you. You took the opportunity while he was distracted and bit down on his hand. He yelped in pain and pulled his hand away. “The hell was that for?!”
“You put your hands on me!” You looked up at the guy. “I should be the one saying that.” You huffed and walked away from the creepy man.
“That still don’ give ya the right to bite me.” He followed after you. You stopped in your step and turned to face him.
“Do you want me to call the cops on you?” You said it in more of a statement rather than a question. When you first stepped out you didn’t get a good look at him. But now looking at him, you saw who he was and you froze. Your mouth gaped open and you heard him laugh at your reaction.
You quickly closed up your mouth and marched away. That self-entitled prick! Does he really think that he deserves everything and an apology just because he’s Elvis!? Hell no he doesn’t. You just wanted to enjoy your lunch in peace, and yet you had to deal with this famous rockstar, who was too busy in his actor era.
Don’t get everything twisted up. You loved Elvis Presley, you thought he was a great singer and some of his movies were great. However, you were on your break. It was your personal time, and you didn’t want to have to interact with anyone or anything.
“Hang on now,” his southern accent wisped its way through your ears. You couldn’t help but feel your knees almost tremble. Those southern accents always got to you.
“What could the king possibly want with a little low-life servant like myself.” You looked at him annoyed. Any other time, you would be crying at seeing his beauty. Right now though, he was taking out the minutes of your half-hour break. Quite frankly, you didn’t appreciate one bit of it.
“‘M sure you’ve seen those girls out front, I-I just wanted someplace to eat… Figured I would try the back door.” He tried to explain himself. Whoever goes and tries the back door first off? Especially when there are big letters on the door that say Keep out.
“You know that’s for employees only right?” You pointed out to him. You didn’t know if he was missing his glasses or just blind. The back door held big letters on it saying employees only, keep out, amongst other sayings.
“Yes, I can read. But I fi-”
“You figured just because I’m Elvis Presley I can get what I want.” You mocked him. He looked at you annoyed. Out of all the workers he could have possibly bumped into, he got you. The girl who possibly wouldn’t care if he was some high-top celebrity or even the president.
“Are you-”
“No, I am not, because you are wasting my lunch.” You peered down at your watch, “You already waste ten minutes of my thirty. So, I am going to walk away before you take away the other twenty.” You turned and walked over to the picnic table. You sat down and opened your lunch box and started to eat.
There was this small outdoor eating area that the surrounding businesses use. It was a small beautiful area. Around summertime and the weekends, you guys would get around and have a cookout. The community was great, and to sit outside and eat while enjoying the fresh air… It really helped you calm down.
“So-” you let out a loud groan and looked down over Elvis. Why was he following you? Why did he feel the need to talk to you while you were on your break? You didn’t want to converse while on your break. You wanted to sit, eat your food, and calculate when you had to get back to work.
“What do you want?” You asked him as you munched down on your sandwich.
“You treat me differently.” He stated the obvious. You looked at him with the Are you kidding me look. “I… look, ‘m used to people always screamin’ and runnin’ towards me. You… you yell at me. You don’ praise me.”
“Oh yeah, no problem. I would do that to anyone who bothers me on break so… You’re nothing special.” You explained with a shrug of your shoulders. It was true, you were gently a nice person. When it came to your personal time though… that’s when you started to get grouchy.
“Well, your string would say otherwise.” You looked at him confused before you looked down at your ankle. The once red string was no longer there. When you left for break it was there and no- that only had to mean one thing.
“You got to be kidding me.” You spoke under your breath. You slowly turned your head to look at Elvis who had… a pleased look on his face. It was like that… you teased me and now I’m getting my revenge.
“Oh come on, I can’ be that bad.” He chuckled lightly.
“You have taken away so much of my break time… I disagree.” You said in response.
“Well, now ya don’ got to work anymore. I can provide.” Because that is something every girl wants to hear. Quit your job, stay home, cook and clean… look after the kids.
“Who says I even want to be with you.” You tilted your head to the side lightly.
“Are you one to go against your soulmate's choosing?” Elvis questioned. He had you there. You weren’t one to go against the person who marked you and Elvis as soulmates. There had to be a reason for it, and you just couldn’t see that right now.
“Absolutely. Because all I want right now is to eat my goddamn sandwich-”
“Y/n! Your break’s over!” The cook called out to you. You closed your eyes and breathed in a long thick breath. You got three bites out of your sandwich. Three goddamn bites! You dropped your sandwich down onto its wrap and rubbed your eyes.
“I have to get back to work.” You said softly and gathered your things before getting up. Looks like another day where you’ll starve a work. The rest of your shift should be very exciting.
“Before ya go, could I get ya number?” He questioned as he turned to face you. As you looked at him you let out a sigh. He was your soulmate and you had to accept that. Maybe he couldn’t be so bad. Plus… you would be able to travel the world.
“Visit me at closing and I’ll consider.” You told him and walked off. Unbeknownst to you, Elvis wore a smile on his face. This was certainly not how he planned his day, but he was glad he met his soulmate. He was glad, he met you.
Mutual Taglist: @darlinboypresley @emmymaehereeeeee @venus-haze @austinstyles
#asshlyyyy writes#elvis presley#elvis fanfiction#elvis fanfic#elvis fic#austin elvis x you#austin elvis x reader#elvis x y/n#elvis x you#elvis x reader#elvis presley fanfiction#austin!elvis#austin!elvis fic#austin!elvis imagine#austin!elvis angst#austin!elvis x reader#elvis fluff
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No Longer The Housewife, Part 2
Pairing: Elvis Presley x f!reader; Austin!Elvis x f!reader
Word Count: 7.2K
Summary: Your husband is looking for you but you are too enamored with Elvis to care. However, you would soon learn that you shouldn’t have been in Las Vegas in the first place.
Warning(s): There are some TRIGGER warnings in this part. Physical Assault, Use of A Gun, Profanity, Angsty asf, SMUTTYYYY, Oral (m.receiving and f. receiving), masturbation (f.receiving), Foot Kink, Exhibitionism, Elvis gives reader slight aftercare.
A/N: I honestly hateeeee part of this, but I hope you guys are ready because it is very angsty and spicy. Make sure you guys read the trigger warnings before y’all dive in because whewwwww I literally had to think about how I was going to implement the husband and let me tell you, he’s dog shit in this part. I hope you guys enjoy ;)
read part one here.
masterlist.
Saturday rolled around too fast for your liking. You already knew that you would have to face Elvis after you told him that you would stay the night in his arms. Pulling yourself up in your bed, you looked over to see that Lindsay wasn’t in bed beside you. Maybe she went to breakfast; you thought as you got out of your warm bed. The cool air from the air conditioning system caused goosebumps to form on your skin as you stood in the middle of your hotel room, only dressed in your nightie. You decided to get ready for the day, walking into your shared bathroom. You looked at yourself in the mirror, and you wished you were shocked by what you had seen. Elvis did a number on you the previous night–neck covered with purple-ish marks and little scratch marks that littered your skin. If you were any other vanilla woman, you would have been uncomfortable with the sight. However, you weren’t vanilla, and you wouldn’t become vanilla now. Your fingers brushed over the marks, wincing as some of them were tender to the touch. Your mind went back to the previous night in Elvis’s penthouse–him taking you over and over in different parts of the suite and especially the hot sesh on his piano. Your head was so buried in your thoughts that you didn’t notice your hands moving slowly down your body before your fingers rubbed at your now-sensitive bud.
After your masturbation session and a hot shower, you were finally dressed and ready to go for the day. At that time, Lindsay had returned to the room, so she wanted to know how your night with Elvis went. You sat on the bed with her, not sparing the details of the racy night of lovemaking that you had experienced with him. “Oh, Y/N! You can’t leave him after he made you feel that good! You must continue seeing him or something; screw your bonehead of a husband.” Of course, she would have said something like that. Lindsay couldn’t stand your husband, and yet she is trying to convince you that the only way out of your dead-end marriage was to continue with an affair with the most lusted-after man in all of America. You wanted out of your marriage more than anyone, wanting to escape from the misery that your husband has bestowed on you since he entered your life. You wanted nothing more than to be with Elvis completely, watching him perform every night before he took you until the sun rose in the sky the following day.
Lindsay had convinced you that a day out would be something that you needed, so you followed her around the Vegas strip as she wanted to shop for the second show of Elvis that you both would catch later. You were completely unaware that your husband was trying to find you, calling your family and your other friends to see where you went off to. He wasn’t pleased that you left, especially without your ring. The ring that he paid for signaled that you belonged to him. You were his wife. He may have slept around with a few women, but he felt as if you should have been grateful that he came home to you at night. You should have been grateful that he laid beside you every night and was there waiting for you the following morning. He wasn’t a complex man, all he wanted was his wife to cook and to clean, maybe even satisfy him. All he asked in return was that his wife wouldn’t abandon him, like you were doing. He had found out from your small circle of friends that you had gone to Las Vegas with that bitch, Lindsay.
How he hated Lindsay.
Lindsay was the reason that you were so unhappy with him. She never made it unknown that she hated him, but he could say that the feeling was fuckin’ mutual. In his eyes, she was a whore who always tried to convince you to leave him and become a whore like her. You weren’t a whore, you were his good girl; the reason why he decided to marry you in the first place. He knew how easy you were to manipulate, but he couldn’t help but admit that you were the love of his life. He played on the emotions that your family felt about you being married so young, but he knew all along that Lindsay didn’t buy it. He could care less though, as he only wanted you to believe him. He wasn’t marrying Lindsay, he was marrying you. So why were you running away from him all of a sudden? He wondered if you ever did like how he never wanted you to work, wanted you to stay at home and keep up the house. Any woman would like that, right?
He may have been wrong to step out on the marriage and maybe slap you around a bit, but he wasn’t a horrible husband like the others were painting him out to be. He took care of you, making sure that you never had to work a day job in your life, while working his fingers to the bone. How could you run away from that? Who would want a woman who doesn’t even know how to work a fax machine? He does, so off he went to Las Vegas to bring you home. He finally made it to Vegas earlier that morning, stepping out of the airport with a look of disgust over his features. Out of all of the places that that whore could have brought you, she brought you to the whore capital of the United States. Your parents would have been shocked to hear that you were parading yourself around Vegas with your shitty friend, possibly waiting for another man to pick you up. He hated the thought of some greased up hooligan running his filthy hands over his woman, but he wouldn’t have to worry about that because you were faithful to him.
Even through all of the times that he knew that you caught on to his cheating ways, you never left him before. He was frightened to say the least, the thought of him being alone without you bothered him. This is why he has to find you, he has to make things go back to the way that they were. He was comfortable with what he was doing, sleeping around but cuddling with you at night. He wouldn’t dream of tainting you with his dirty habits, which is why he hasn’t touched you in about a year. As he walked along the strip, he could have sworn that he saw you with Lindsay, your nervous energy he could spot from a mile away. He didn’t want you to know that he was in Vegas, so he stayed hidden but he knew that he saw you. The outfit that you wore sent his blood boiling. You never wore those types of clothes with him, but even if you did, he wouldn’t have liked it. He followed you around town as you and Lindsay shopped for clothes, overhearing how you were going to look amazing for the show that was happening later that night. What show? He had to find out, so he stuck around you for the remainder of the day.
He found out that you were going to see Elvis Presley in concert, like you had the previous night according to Lindsay. Why were you going to see such a washed-up musician in a seedy town? Why did you look so in love when you talked about him? He could tell that you were in love with Elvis as it was the same look that you used to give him. Used to. You never looked at him in that way, only giving him glares or the resting bitch face when he would come home. Were you whoring yourself to this Elvis fellow? The blood continued to boil in him as he stomped off to get a room at the hotel that the show would be happening—the International. Once he got his room, he spent hours pacing as he thought about what he had overheard from you and Lindsay. You were definitely whoring yourself to him, you had to be. The only reason you would wear the loved on look that you had was if he had pleased you in some kind of way. He knew what Elvis Presley was about. His parents used to warn him to never become like him, a sex crazed maniac with the power to make women turn into whores. He wasn’t about to let his wife become one of his whores. Something had to be done.
***
Lindsay pulled you into all of the shops that littered the Vegas strip, making you try as many skimpy outfits that you could fit into your hands. “Remember Y/N, you have Elvis Presley under your thumb. You have to make him want you more.” Her smirk turned your stomach upside down as your thoughts once again moved to the events that happened last night. Elvis had definitely brought out the fire in you, the fire that you didn’t know that you had. You had to see him again, but you were afraid of what he would think. He probably had already figured that you were long gone from his arms and he was probably upset about it too. You didn’t know how you were going to make it up to him, but you wanted him to know that you enjoyed yourself with him. You knew you sounded like other women who had their hopes up when they were with him, but you didn’t care if you sounded crazy when you thought about staying in Vegas for him. You wouldn’t tell Lindsay that because she could make an inch into a mile with hopes. You found the perfect outfit that you were going to wear later on that night, pulling Lindsay towards the front of the store before paying for it. “You’re right, Linds. I have to make him want me tonight, but I am still going to have to find him and apologize.” You just hope that he was willing to listen.
You and Lindsay returned to the hotel soon after, your heart immediately fluttered as your footsteps walked towards the elevator. You wanted so badly to press the button to the penthouse, but you had to get ready for the show later. You shook the thought of Elvis out of your mind as Lindsay pulled you into your shared hotel room, forcing you to put all of your energy into knocking Elvis off of his feet. The dress that you bought was tight in all of the right places, your curves making themselves known. The material was mesh, showing a bit of your skin but only a tease. You placed your feet into your black heels, before walking into the bathroom where Lindsay was—teasing her hair. You stood next to her, beginning to work on your makeup. You settled for the exact replica that you had worn the night before, but you focused more on covering up the marks that Elvis had left on your body. A knock on your hotel room door broke the both of you out of your routine, Lindsay leaving you in the bathroom as she went to get the door.
A black haired man stood before her, sunglasses clad over his eyes but he was staring right at her. “Is Y/N here?” He asked, eyes raking over her body as he was clearly enamored with her. “Yes, she is. Who is asking?” She asked, catching your attention as you walked out of the bathroom, eyebrows raised. His eyes moved from Lindsay to you as he smiled. “Elvis is looking for you. I’m here to take you to him.” Your heart picked up speed, immediately nervous about meeting with him. You nodded your head, grabbing your clutch off of the bed before walking up to the door. Lindsay stood there with a bright smile on her face, clearly enjoying that you had a man who was sending members of his entourage to pick you up. You glared at her, whispering in her ear, ‘calm down, I’ll see you later,’ before you followed the mystery man out of the room. He told you as you both entered the elevator that his name was Joe. “Pleased to meet you, Joe. What does Elvis want with me?” You wanted to know what to expect before you stood in front of the man who had the world in the palm of his hand.
Joe shrugged his shoulders, leaning against the wall as he pressed the penthouse button. “He just told me that he wanted to see you. Whenever he wants something, we do it. No questions asked.” He chuckled, noticing that you were a bit nervous. “Did you do something that makes you all jumpy like this?” He poked into your mind, wanting to know what you had done to be nervous as you were. “I-.. I just want to know if he needs anything, that’s all.” You turned away from him as the penthouse floor flashed on the elevator’s wall. The doors opened as he walked off out, turning to you before urging you to walk up to the door. “Well, whatever you two have going on, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Joe laughed out, knocking on the door before he walked off in the opposite direction before disappearing from your sight. The door opened, revealing Elvis in all of his glory. He immediately brought a smile to your face as he opened the door wider so you could walk inside. “I woke up and you weren’t here, lil’ mama. What happened?” Elvis closed the door after you walked inside, immediately wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you against his chest.
He smelled magnificent, the scent of tobacco and a hint of cinnamon hit your nostrils as you took him all in. Part of you wanted to tell him that you ran away because you didn’t want him to get caught in your secrets, but you were so scared that you would lose him that you coward away from the truth. You weren’t ready to tell him, but you knew that you had to eventually. So, you turned around in his arms, your eyes moving from the ground up to his blue eyes that were staring intently at you. You could tell that he knew something was up, but you wanted to reassure him that nothing was wrong. You put a wide smile on your face before wrapping your arms around his neck, standing up on your toes—leaning into his embrace. “I didn’t want Lindsay to freak out if I didn’t go back. I know I promised that I would stay, but if you want, I’ll stay tonight.” The voice in your head laughed at your poor excuse. You’re such a liar.
Elvis believed you. His bright smile spread across his face as he leaned into you, pressing his soft lips against yours. You were glad that he didn’t ask further, running your fingers up the nape of his neck before resting them in his locks. He tasted amazing, something that you missed so much as the visions of his body over you came creeping back. You pulled away from him, taking him by the hand before pushing him in the loveseat that sat near the piano that he had graciously taken you on the previous night. Elvis chuckled, reaching over to grab the already lit cigar that was in the ashtray. He stuck it in between his teeth, manspreading as his eyes clouded with something that was normal for you at this point. You got down on your knees as you crawled over to him like a lioness stalking her prey. Elvis was your prey and you were ready to pounce. You didn’t know what he had over you, but you were willing to embrace your wild side when he was around.
Your hands rubbed up his legs before stopping at his thighs, your eyes watching him as he sat there, puffing away on his cigar. His head was thrown back as a smirk crossed his lips, waiting for you to continue. Your fingers danced across his thighs before you grabbed his bulge that was proudly growing in his jumpsuit. You swore that you heard his breath hitch, but he never showed that he was affected as you unzipped the material. You pulled his erection out of his jumpsuit, wrapping your lips around the tip. Elvis hissed, pushing you to push him inch by inch into your mouth. You knew that he had a show that was soon, but you wanted him to relax. All the nervousness he may have been feeling should be released from his body, along with other things. Your mouth worked his cock, moaning as one of his hands moved to rest on your head, pushing you deeper on his cock. You gagged but quickly composed yourself as you took all of him inside your mouth.
“Goddamn, baby. You know just what I need.” He praised you, watching with a smile as you sucked him off. Your hand moved to wrap around the base of his cock, the other moving to fondle his balls as you continued on through his moans and praises. You pulled off of his cock, gathering spit in your mouth before letting it fall down his cock. You wrapped your mouth around his cock once again, lapping up what you gave him, smirking as he lost his mind with how dirty you were being. “Fuck, you’re my dirty girl, huh?” He pulled up off of his cock again, spitting on his cock as well. “Lap it up, slut. My little cum whore.” He let your jaw go, pushing you on his cock once again where you did exactly what he told you to. The slurping noises picked up as your head moved up and down his length. Your hands still fondling his balls, you knew that you were driving him closer to his orgasm. His cock twitched in your mouth before he spilled in your mouth, grunting loudly as you continued taking all that he gave you.
You sat up as you opened your mouth, showing that you were holding his cum. He tapped your jaw, indicating that he wanted you to swallow all of it. You smirked, closing your mouth as you swallowed his cum, putting his cock back into his jumpsuit before zipping him back up. He finished up his cigar, putting it out before pressing his lips to yours in a kiss. Elvis pulled you up to sit on his lap, nuzzling against your shoulder. “What did I do to deserve something like that, baby?” You looked down at him, running your fingers up across his chest—playing with the chest hair that sat prettily. “I want you to enjoy your shows tonight, relax. Everyone is gonna be there to see you.” You wanted him to know that you would be there to see him. As if on cue, a knock on the door broke you both out of your romantic stupor as you slid off of Elvis’s lap. Elvis stood up from the loveseat before crossing the room, opening the door to see Jerry and Joe standing there. You waved at them, rocking on your feet as Jerry told Elvis that it was time for him to head down because the show was about to start.
“C’mere baby.” You didn’t need to be told twice before you were immediately at Elvis’s side, gripping your clutch in your hands. “Jerry is gonna take you down to meet with your lady friend. We have a table for you and her so I can see you. I’ll see you later, okay?” He pressed his lips to your forehead, pushing you gently out of the penthouse as he and Joe walked in the opposite direction, disappearing once again from your sight. Jerry escorted you down to the showroom, your eyes immediately found Lindsay who stood next to the table you assumed was where you were going to sit. As you neared the table, you swore you could feel familiar eyes watching you, but you chose not to pay it any attention. You sat down at the table, conversing with Lindsay as you waited for the show to begin.
***
What you didn’t know was that your husband was also in the showroom, standing in the back of the room, watching you. He managed to get a ticket for the show tonight after hearing that you would attend earlier. He was still boiling with anger, watching as you giggled along with Lindsay as you waited for the show to start. He found a table that was out of sight for you, but he was still willing to keep his eyes on you. Once the show was over, you would know that he was there. The lights lowered as the music picked up, your husband’s eyes moved between Elvis and your table. He wasn’t impressed with the show, never being a fan of his music but he had to admit that he must have had a hell of a talent to have women throwing themselves at him. He noticed that you were also acting like those women. He didn’t like it one bit. You would soon learn that he didn’t like this type of behavior that you were exhibiting. You would soon go back with him and he would never let you out of his sight again.
He gripped the glass of the whiskey that he had ordered, downing the liquid as he gained alcohol courage for later. As the show moved on, the anger in him brewed and brewed until he was unable to keep the look of disgust from his face as he watched you and your friend swoon over the dancing man that was performing on the stage. As time went on, he didn’t realize that he had ordered more glasses of whiskey until his vision was getting blurred. He had to stop himself from drinking as his anger grew from the fact that you were enjoying yourself more than he was. You should be enjoying yourself in the comfort of his home, sitting with him and lusting after him. However, that was not the case. Elvis soon exited the stage, walking in the crowd as he kissed the women who wanted it. Your husband scoffed, not understanding what women found so attractive about him but he sure as hell wasn’t impressed. It was until he saw Elvis walk over to your table, placing his hand on your face and pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that his anger blew out of the top. He was so angry that he felt that he had steam coming out of his ears.
Once Elvis walked away from you getting lost in the crowd, your husband decided that he would make his move. He stood up from the table, walking over to your table. “So, this is where you are, baby.” He spat, smirking angrily as he noticed how shocked you were that he knew where you were. He grabbed your arm, yanking you from the table as he pulled you out of the ballroom. He ignored the screaming of Lindsay who was telling him to let you go and the pleas of yours—crying that he was hurting you. “I come home after working all fucking day to you gone. I find out that you’re in Vegas with your whore friend and now I know that you’re whoring yourself to see Elvis Fuckin’ Presley.” He stopped, turning back as he saw Lindsay tugging you away from him. He stopped in his tracks, shooting a glare toward Lindsay. “Let her go, bitch. You took my wife away from me and now you want to interfere? You’re so fuckin’ lucky that I don’t fucking call the law on you.” He pulled you away from her, pressing the elevator button before pushing you inside of the elevator—Lindsay begging for him to let you go as the door shut in her face.
***
You struggled against your husband as he pulled you into his hotel room. When did he arrive in Vegas? Why was he there? “Honey, please. Let me go, I’ll go back with you. Please.” You begged as he pushed his room door open, throwing you inside. He walked inside, slamming the door behind him as he rolled up his sleeves. You gulped, knowing that he was going to punish you. He gripped your hair tightly, tilting your head back as he looked over your face. “So, you came here to Vegas to fuck that washed-up pervert?!” His hand came across your face so fast that you couldn’t blink as the pain made your ears ring. You fell backward, pushing away from him as you whimpered. “Please, I’m not doing anything. I just came to-….” You couldn’t continue with your excuse as he pulled you up by your hair, pushing you onto the bed. The bed bounced as you pushed yourself up in an attempt to get away from him. Your husband was not having it, pulling you back to him by your legs as he sat on them. “I didn’t know I married a whore.” His fingers caressed your cheek as his other hand held your arms. “I didn’t know your parents raised a fuckin’ whore.” The hand that was once caressing your cheek soon wrapped around your throat, squeezing a little too tight for your liking.
You gasped, jerking underneath him as your oxygen was cut off. In your mind, you were begging for anyone to help you. You were begging Lindsay would get you some help. You were begging that Elvis would come to save you. You knew, you wishfully thought, as you knew that nobody usually saved you from the wrath of your husband. Your husband moved his hand that was holding your arms, punching you across the face as his other hand still choked you. You couldn’t do anything but cry, wondering why you didn’t leave the country instead of coming to Vegas with Lindsay. You were getting beaten and strangled in your husband’s bed, but no one could save you. As he sat above you, punching and slapping your face as well as choking you, you were fighting back with everything that you had. Your hands were pushing your husband’s face, scratching him across the face as you managed to get his hand from across your throat. You coughed, your oxygen coming back as you screamed out with the little voice you had. “Help! Help me!”
Your husband chuckled as he held your cheeks in his hand, glaring down at you. “No one will help you, bitch. I’m going to show you who you belong to and news flash, it’s not Elvis Presley.” His hand connected with your face once more and you heard a snap. The fucker broke your fucking nose, but you were so numb to the pain that it didn’t phase you. You were only worried about saving your life and not being found dead in a huge hotel in Las Vegas. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please stop!” You begged, now sobbing as you covered your face with your hands, which was becoming soaked with your blood. At that moment, you were sure that you were gonna die and you wouldn’t even be able to see Elvis again. The exact time that your husband was torturously assaulting you, Lindsay had found Joe. She was crying, trying to explain what was happening with you. “Doll, you’re gonna have to calm down. What’s happening?” Lindsay wasn’t sure where you were, but she wasn’t going to stop until she made sure you were safe.
“Y/N—is in trouble! Her husband has found her,” Lindsay started, noticing that Joe’s eyes widened. “H-husband?” He asked, shaking his head. “Long story, but he is probably killing her! We have to help her! He is so abusive to her; he literally will kill her if we don’t help her!” She sobbed, trying to get Joe to do something. Joe nodded his head frantically as he tugged her with him as they went off to find Elvis and the others. Joe led Lindsay to the dressing room where Elvis was after finishing up the show. Jerry was standing at the door, turning to look at the both of you. His smile fell from his face when he saw that Lindsay was crying and Joe was visibly angry. “What’s going on?” He started before looking back at Lindsay. Joe explained what was happening, noticing how Jerry’s face paled before he turned to knock on the door. “Hey, EP. We got a problem.” Elvis opened the dressing room door, immediately noticing that the aura was off. “What’s—where's Y/N?” He asked, eyes locking to Lindsay who clearly didn’t have Y/N standing next to her. Jerry leaned in, whispering the situation in his ear. Elvis’s fists clenched as he pushed past everyone. Joe and Jerry followed behind him, knowing exactly the reason why Elvis was upset.
Your husband had finally gotten tired of beating you, laying beside you on the bed as he wrapped his arms around your waist. You silently sobbed as you laid there, sick to your stomach. You were sick to your stomach because you were laying next to your husband, sick to your stomach because you were covered in blood and bruises, and most importantly you were sick to your stomach because in the midst of it all, you missed Elvis. You wanted Elvis to come rescue you and in the back of your mind, you knew that he would. There was suddenly a knock on the door, and you sat up in bed. Your husband grumbled as he sat up with you, yelling at the door. “I asked not to be disturbed!” The knock came once again, causing your husband to stand up and walk to the door. As he opened it, a gun was placed against his forehead. You gasped, sitting back against the bed frame as Lindsay ran inside of the room. You reached out for her, sobbing in her arms as you watched the scene in front of you. Elvis walked into the room, followed by Joe and Jerry with his gun pressed against your husband’s temple.
“You son of a bitch! You like beating women? You like hitting on MY woman!” Elvis gritted, his blue eyes were painted over with fury, and at any moment, he would have snapped. “She’s my wife! What in the hell do you mean, ‘your woman,’ Your husband spat at Elvis, careful not to say anything crazy as Elvis still had the gun pressed to his head. Elvis chuckled darkly, pressing his tongue in his cheek as he pushed the safety down. You gasped, closing your eyes as you feared that Elvis would kill him. The look in his eyes was so deadly that you were sure that the room would be covered with his brains if he wasn’t careful. “Do you think that I give a fuck that she’s your wife? After today, she’s going to be my wife. You don’t deserve to have her after the shit that you’ve done to her. I know all about you putting your fuckin’ hands on her, forcing her to stay at home while you go out and lay your dick in other women.” Elvis walked your husband backward to the nearest wall, still pressing the gun to his temple. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t blow your fuckin’ brains out all over these walls? You’re gonna leave Las Vegas tonight and crawl back into whatever fuckin’ hole you came out of, and you’re gonna leave Y/N alone. You ain’t gonna show your face back here ever again, or I will fuckin’ kill you. You hear me, ‘ya son of a bitch?” At that moment, he pulled the trigger, but it clicked. Your husband looked like he could shit an egg out of his ass.
Elvis laughed, smacking your husband’s face lightly before rearing his hand back—connecting his fist to his face. Your husband fell down on the floor, holding his cheek as Elvis climbed over him. The punches kept connecting to your husband’s face as Lindsay helped you out of the bed. Joe rushed over to the both of you as he picked you up bridal style, carrying you out of the room—the sounds of your husband’s groans echoing in your ears. You called out for Lindsay as your vision started to blur. You hadn’t realized that you had lost a good amount of blood until you passed out in Joe’s arms to the sound of Lindsay screaming your name.
When you came hours later, you were in Elvis’s bed. It was still the dead of night, but you could tell that the sun would rise soon. You winced, feeling your head pounding and your ears ringing. Your mind returned to your husband pounding into your face hours earlier, the fear jolting you out of the bed. “Woah, baby. Relax.” A soothing southern accent stopped you in your tracks as you were thinking of taking off once again–escaping from the wrath that your husband had inflicted upon you. “I know you ain’t tryna to leave me again, honey.” Elvis placed his hand on your shoulder, spinning you around; his blue eyes were once again looking into your soul. Although you knew that your face was covered in scratches and bruises, Elvis still looked at you as if you were beautiful. “Gee, honey. I hope you didn’t come here to think that you could come into my world and then leave. How long have you been dealin’ with that son of a bitch?” You were taken aback by the question as you thought that he would have asked about you hiding your marriage from him. “You’re not going to ask about why a married woman is sleeping around with you?” Your voice shook as your arms instinctively wrapped around yourself. Elvis laughed, leading you back over to the bed and sitting you down on the edge.
“Honey, married women are the least of my problems. There have been plenty who have wanted to be in your position, but none of them have made it past one night. D’ya know what makes you different? You have that fire in your eyes, as I do. You want something better for yourself, which is what I like about you. So no, I ain’t askin’ ‘ya about why you are sleepin’ with me. Unless you want to tell me that yourself?” Elvis looked over you with a look of understanding before sitting beside you. You took a deep breath before you started your story. You had met your husband when you were a teenager and immediately married him, but deep down, you did not want to. You told him about how your husband made you stay home while he was out sleeping with other women but would come home and beat you, even though you did nothing wrong. As you were talking, you noticed that Elvis’s fists were clenched–white-knuckled, and his jaw flexed. You placed your hand over one of his, reassuring him that you were okay. “I shoulda’ shot that bastard back there. I didn’t want to scare you off.” He pulled you into a hug before he kissed your forehead.
You melted into his embrace as he kissed down your face, running his fingers over your bruises. You winced, cowering away from him. “I’m sorry you had to save me back there. I feel embarrassed.” You shouldn’t be here with Elvis right now, as you thought that your husband was surely going to find you again. “If you think that your sorry excuse of a husband is going to find you here, he’s not. Joe and Jerry took care of him.” He spoke as if he read your mind. You instantly relaxed, not caring where he was. You were done with him as far as you were concerned. Your husband had ruined your life for far too long, so now it was time for you to live for yourself. Elvis continued to be attentive to your needs more than your husband had ever been. The thought of this made you feel warm inside, so you leaned in pressing your lips to his softly. Elvis stilled before pressing his lips back to yours gently, careful not to hurt you. He pushed you back to the bed, moving his lips down to your neck.
He traced the hand print that was around your neck, grimacing as he thought about how your husband could have killed you. “That bastard, I should have killed him.” He repeated, pressing soft kisses along your skin, licking and nipping at your collarbone. “I think I’m going to worship you tonight. Don’t need to worry your pretty little head about pleasing me.” He whispered, pushing your straps that held the dress to your body down your shoulders. As the straps fell down your shoulders, his lips chased them—nipping and licking at your skin again. He smirked, noticing that purple marks that littered your skin that he knew came from him. As Elvis removed your dress from your body, you shivered with anticipation as you watched him continue to kiss down your body, undoing your bra before throwing it on the floor. He pecked around your chest, wrapping his lips around your nipple. You could have died and went to heaven at that moment. His mouth felt hot on your skin, pushing you to release a whine from your lips.
Elvis continued to show your breasts much needed attention, but you were needy for him. You needed him to assure you that he would protect you. “Please, Elvis.” You whined but you knew he wanted to take care of you tonight. You pushed the urgency of having him inside of you aside as your eyes continued to watch him, kiss and lick down your body once again. His fingers quickly pulled your panties down off your hips, throwing them down where your bra now lay. His lips wrapped around your budding bud, fingers rubbing between your folds. Your arousal was beginning to pool around your walls, slowly oozing out of you. Your back arched off of the bed as he slid two fingers inside of you. Your folds fluttered around his fingers as your own fingers found their way into his hair. Your moans grew louder and louder. You didn’t care. You were deep in pleasure, ignoring the pain that was screaming all over your body from the abuse your husband gave you. You lived for the pleasure mixed with the pain, remembering how Elvis was close to shooting your husband earlier. Your pussy fluttered again with the thought, whimpering curses under your breath as he continued to eat you.
Elvis enjoyed the sweetness that was coming from you, lapping up the arousal that was pooling on his taste buds. He moaned, sucking your pulsating bud, spreading your legs wider as his fingers fucked into you. “You want me badly, dont’cha baby?” He teased, licking around your pussy lips as he pulled away from you; continuing to finger fuck you into oblivion. Your orgasm was growing closer and closer, your toes curling into the sheets as you continued whimpering louder. Elvis pulled his fingers from you before you could cum causing you to groan out in disbelief. He tsked as he kissed down your leg as he pulled your foot up to his face, pressing kisses along the padding of your toes. You gasped, not used to the feeling as he kissed up the side of your foot. Elvis smirked, wrapping his lip around your big toe, playfully moving his tongue around it. Your body arched off the bed again as Elvis pulled your toe out his mouth. “Touch yourself, baby. I wanna watch you cum.”
‘Your hand moved down to your clit, rubbing in a circular motion as Elvis continued to wrap his lips around your toes. You never knew that Elvis was into feet, but you would be lying if you didn’t find the idea arousing of Elvis licking and sucking your toes. You would even entertain the idea of giving him a footjob later, if he wanted. As your brain replayed the moment of Elvis scaring your husband with his gun, you chased your high as you continued rubbing your clit with your fingers. “Fuck Elvis! You were so hot today, scaring my fuckin’ husband with your gun.” You whimpered out, not caring that it could have ruined the moment. Elvis’s brow raised as he smirked at your words. “Yeah? You loved seeing me take care of your husband for hurting my woman? For thinking that he could take you away from me?” He continued kissing at your toes, his eyes not leaving the sight of you pleasing yourself. “Use your other hand to finger yourself slowly, baby. Don’t rush..” He commanded as he moved away from your foot, getting on his knees—only watching you. You groaned, throwing your head back against the bed as your fingers continued to rub at your clit, the overstimulation at its full peak. You could feel all of your orgasm pushing forward like a train, the urge to pee crashing over your body as your hips lifted off of the bed, your juices shooting straight into Elvis’s face. You screamed at the top of your lungs as your legs continued shaking and your orgasm continued to crash over you. “Holy shit, mama! ‘ya fuckin’ covered my outfit with your squirt.” Elvis chuckled, standing up from the bed as he unbuttoned his blouse.
His chest glistened with the mixture of his sweat and your juices, which you couldn’t help but to stare at his dark hair that littered his chest. You collapsed on the bed, trying to catch your breath as the pounding of your heart took over your hearing. Elvis walked away from the bed, heading into the bathroom as he wiped himself off with a towel before he headed back towards the bed, where you laid. He leaned over to your lips, pressing an passionate kiss to your lips before he wiped the glistening arousal from your thighs and your pussy. “Get some rest, mama. Tomorrow, we have a lot of things to do before we get you settled to stay here.” Your brow raised as you looked over at him. After everything that happened tonight, Elvis was still willing to allow you to stay by his side. He was willing to help you escape your husband. Your eyes fluttered as darkness surrounded you. Somehow, as you slumbered beside Elvis, you had never felt more safe. You were never safe with your husband–the bruises and scratches were proof of the pain and anguish that you lived with. However as you laid in Elvis’s arms, snoozing away, Elvis made it his business that your husband would never touch you again. He was going to make sure of it, even if he had to handle it himself.
Taglist:
@aconflagrationofmyown @lindszeppelin @headfullofpresley @venus-haze @ash-omalley @oh-my-front-door @oh-kurva @loving-elvis @lovininapinkcadillac @ep-supremacy @sournatromanoff @woundmetender @rainydayz101 @aysiiarenee @godlypresley @bisexualwvtson @samfangirls @missmaywemeetagain @literally-just-elvis-fics @polksalademma @flwrs4aust @rosaminny @foreverdolly @austinbutlersbaby @ggwritesstuff
#elvis 2022#elvis presley#elvis x reader#austin!elvis x reader#elvis presley x reader#austin!elvis#austin!elvis smut#elvis smut#elvis presley angst#austin!elvis angst#daisy writes
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Well how about an AustinElvis Prompt?
Reader decides to surprise Elvis for his birthday by bringer herself and the children to visit him, though it doesn’t go to plan. Reader and the children walk into the suite to see Elvis in the company of several ladies.
Sex, Drugs, etc
Masterlist
Fandom: Austin!Elvis and Elvis
Rating: M (mentions of drug and alcohol abuse)
Pairings: Austin!Elvis x Reader or Elvis x Reader
Word Count: 1055
Warnings: Cheating, adultery, cursing, mentions of drug and alcohol abuse (Let me know if I missed any)
Authors Note: Thank you for the request! I did write this as a late 60's early 70s Elvis so he will be at the international hotel. I hope you enjoy it!
✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *
Elvis had been away from home for his last two birthdays and Y/N would be damned if she allowed him to spend his next one away from his family. So despite the tight-lipped warnings from the colonel and Jerry Springer, Y/N had packed up herself and the kids to go visit Elvis while he was in Vegas. The children missed their father and Y/N missed her husband.
She rounded up the children into the private jet sent to pick them up and sat down to finish wrapping the last of his birthday presents before eventually reclining her seat to take a nap.
When she awoke Jerry was shaking her shoulder.
"Are you sure about this? It's not too late to turn around?" His brows furrowed as he looked at her practically begging her to do so. Jerry knew what Elvis would be doing right around this time, and he would be anything but alone.
"Of course, I want to do this Jerry. Jesse and Caroline have been dying to see their father and I miss my husband. Why would I ever want to chicken out now." The frown on her face deepened.
"Besides how better to spend a Birthday than with your family?" a smile stretched across her face as Y/N began thinking of Elvis's possible reactions. Putting an end to the conversation, she got up and woke the kids to get them loaded into the car and begin their journey to the International Hotel. Elvis was going to love this.
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When they arrived at the international hotel, Y/N filed the children out of the car and made her way to the lobby to check into Elvis's suit.
"Hello Miss. how can I help you today!" The hostess smiled brightly as she called over a boy to take care of the baggage.
"Hello! I would just like to check into a room my Husband is already here. His name is Elvis Presly and my name is Y/N Presly.
"Oh of course Miss, if I could just see your ID I can give you the key right away."
After giving her ID and receiving the key Y/N took the kids to the elevator and went up the floors all the way to the presidential suite where Elvis was staying.
"Okay kids, wait outside for just a second while I make sure that Daddy is inside, alright?"
"Okay, Mamma!" Jesse's response came accompanied by a thumbs up and a smile so bright it almost hurt Y/N's heart.
She opened the door softly and closed it behind her. She heard voices coming from the sofa area. She heard female voices? That couldn't be right. Why would Elvis have girls in his room?
Sometimes people make foolish mistakes. Like putting sugar on steak instead of salt or turning off the light when you meant to turn on the fan. But most people never have to wonder if their husbands are cheating on them. Y/N never thought that an innocent little surprise could turn into the single worst day of her life.
Elvis was sitting on the couch with three different girls positioned all around him. One on the floor with her head in his lap, another with her head in his neck, and the last was giving him open-mouthed kisses while she raked her fingers through his hair.
"Elv- Elvis what are you doing?" Y/Ns voice cracked as she felt her throat close and the tears threaten to spill from her eyes. Elvis pushed the girls off of him before whirling around to see his wife standing in the doorway with a hand on her heart and eyes glistening with unshed tears.
He stumbled off the sofa and up the step, " Y/N baby wh- what are ya doin' here honey?" There was no talking his way out of this one. Elvis had dug himself into a hole with nothing but a shovel made of his own idiocy.
"Don't 'baby' me Elvis Presly I have eyes! How could you do this to me? You ruined our family over what? A quick fuck? I- is that all children and I are worth to you? " Y/N could barely get the sentence out as she saw the girls on the sofa scramble to put on their clothes. That just added insult to injury. He had been with not one, not two, but three girls.
"Y/N darlin' you know it ain't like that. I get lonely on the road, and I was missin' ya-" The sharp tone of Y/N's voice cut him off.
"If you are missing me then come back and visit. You keep yourself cooped up in this room with people you don't know and doing drugs that you don't even know the name of. I gave you everything I had Elvis. Everything I could possibly give to you I did, so don't you sit there and try to make this about me not being around when you have a goddamn private jet to take you anywhere where you damn well please!"
Elvis was shocked. She had never once cursed or raised her voice, be it at him or the kids.
"Look I-I'm sorry mamma we can work through this can't we? Ya aren't gonna leave me over somethin' as silly as this are ya?" He chuckled lightly as if the entire situation was a massive joke that only he was in on.
"Your kids are young Elvis and you are never around to parent them so no, I will not be divorcing you right this second. But trust that as soon as they are in college or moved out of the house, I will be gone. Feel free to sleep with whoever you would like because you have singlehandedly managed to lose the only person who truly cared about your well-being and safety." Y/N voice grew sterner as she spoke, almost as if she were scolding a child. Her eyes were cold and distant and nothing like those of his loving wife.
"Make sure to call those girls back in, you wouldn't want to be lonely on your birthday." She turned on her feet and walked briskly to the large oak doors of the suite.
"Baby, wait for a mi-". The slam of the doors punctuated his sentence.
✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *
Done! Let me know if you like it!! Don't forget to like and follow until next time girlies!
#austin butler x reader#austin butler series#austin butler fic#austin butler fanfic#austin butler#austin!elvis presley x reader#austin butler elvis#austin butler imagine#austin x reader#austin!elvis fic#austin!elvis x y/n#austin!elvis angst#austin!elvis imagine#elvis#austin butler fanfiction#austin butler smut#austin butler x y/n#austin butler x you#austin butler x fem!reader#austin butler x race neutral reader
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Girl… you say you uncomfortable writing smut but repost stuff involving smut and follow smut writers…..
Like girl your hypocritical
And the fact that your too scared to write smut like your dumb af. If you wanna make it in the fanfic writer world you need smut or you’ll get no hype on your boring ass stories LMFAOOO💀
At the end of the day writing these non smut stories isn’t gonna get you anywhere hun <3 😭 much love ig🫣
oh.. look im sorry i dont mean to come off hypocritical at all…. that wasn’t my intention. i don’t write smut because it makes me “uncomfortable” and when i say that it just makes me feel weird because it’s hard for me to write! i mean im not good at all. aand im sorry my stories are boring. i tryyy really hard on my stories. i prefer reading other smut because it’s well written and i love supporting other writers…❤️. writing fanfics are fun for me and kind of a coping mechanism and im not worried about being suuuuper hyped as a fanfic writer i just want people to enjoy my stories as much as i enjoy theirs! im really sorry for being a hypocrite i didn’t know that was how i was coming off trust me! also with the smut thing im sorry i know it must be weird and ill try to fix my writing abilities but im just not good at writing smut. I feel bad i didn’t meet your needs or pleases as a writer and ill try to do better you can count on me for that!
#austin butler elvis#elvis#elvis 2022#austin butler#austin!elvis#austin!elvis angst#austin!elvis fic#austin!elvis x fem!reader#austin!elvis x black!reader#austin!elvis fanfiction#elvis imagine#elvis x reader#elvis x y/n
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Beauty and the Boss I austin!elvis x oc (part 1)
plot summary: Laura Jean Walker is the daughter to Louisiana's most powerful mafia boss, but to her, he's just her jail warden. When she sneaks out to the Louisiana Hayride with her friend she sees Elvis Presley perform and instantly knows something is special about this boy. Especially when he saves her from being assaulted by a townie. She thinks she's on cloud 9 until she gets kidnapped in the middle of the night by the Memphis Mafia led by Elvis himself. Will Laura Jean try to free herself or will something hold her back from finding her way home?
pairings: austin!elvis x oc
word count: 3477
warnings/notes: violence, blood, fighting
Chapter 1
“Where are you goin’?!” my daddy yelled after me as I moved with my bag and my sweater towards the front door. I didn't have time to hear my father's outraged words about my disobedience because I was already running late to meet up with my friend. He would have rather that I had always remained indoors and isolated from the outside world. He would claim that it is for my security. I believe he is attempting to use me to protect what he long since lost.
Even though he was just behind me, I yelled out, “With my friends! The Louisiana Hayride is still in town and I wanna go.”
“You didn’t permission to no where, little girl! You know how I feel about you going out alone!”
“I am 17 years old, Daddy! You can’t keep sending one of your men to babysit me anymore!”
“Laura Jean Walker, you stop right there or I swear to God---”
“What?” I turned to face him while keeping one hand on the front doorknob. “You’ll do what, Daddy?! Lock me up? Punish me like you do everyone who disobeys you? You might have been able to convince me I owed you somethin’ when I was a little girl, but I don’t. Because I don’t work for you.” I walked out, slamming the door behind me after opening it. I had the distinct impression that he would pursue me and push me back inside. But in all honesty, I was sure he wouldn't. Later, I'd have a rude awakening and might even get grounded, but I wouldn't pay attention to that anyway.
This wasn't always the case. Me, Mama, and Daddy used to be a happy family. The Louisiana Mafia, the most powerful mafia organization in the entire state of Louisiana and possibly the entire country, was led by Daddy. He was involved in a significant amount of Louisiana's building and land development. Daddy could handle any off-the-record task that any of these companies' top executives required in a stealthy and competent manner. His rivals dreaded him, and those who shared a bed with him knew better than to disobey him. I basically grew up as a princess as a result of this. I had everything I needed. I paid for nothing. I had the best teachers to teach me. I wore the priciest outfits. My father gave me the royal treatment. I had no idea what was always going on in Daddy's office while the doors were closed. Not up until that day.
My parents had been traveling across the countryside as they normally did on Sunday mornings when I was 12 years old. Due to the fact that Mama enjoyed having the wind rip through her golden hair, Daddy recently purchased a topless vehicle. She may have simply perceived the wind as an old friend because she had always been as happy and brilliant as the sun. As they made their stop at the gas station, they were on their way back home. The only car that entered the parking lot was theirs. Others have told me that it happened so swiftly that only The Flash could have responded to it. A different car drew up and fired some shots at the car. They arrived, pulled up, and left as swiftly as they turned up. Mom wasn't as fortunate while merely seated in the passenger seat, but Daddy managed to escape with a bullet in his shoulder. Daddy was all business after that. He stopped talking to me and stopped taking me places. One of his men was always keeping an eye on me if I had to walk outside. Now, I learned everything inside. I was confined to my home for years, missing my mother, and I blamed my father for taking her away. That is, up until I started breaking his rules and daring him to take action. Yet we just were fighting.
The hayride wasn't far from the farm my daddy owned, so I walked there, guiding myself by the dazzling lights of the carnival illuminating the sky. By the time I arrived, it had already become crowded. Lights, laughter, and people were all things I craved after being locked in my tower. I took a few steps around the carnival side of the front entrance till I saw my friend Anne waiting for me by one of the cotton candy machines. I dashed over to her and gave her a bear embrace.
“I thought you weren’t ever comin’,” she said in her sweet high pitched country twang.
“My daddy was fussin’ again. I swear he thinks I’m a China doll he can just keep on the shelf to stare at.”
“So, you snuck out…again?”
“I did not sneak out. I just walked out the front door. I’m a grown woman now, Anne. I don’t have to ask for Daddy’s permission to go everywhere.”
“Now, Laura Jean, you know you’re different. Your daddy is---”
“Not the boss of me.” Anne was the daughter of one of Daddy's employees. We'd known each other for most of our lives, and she was well aware of how deadly my father was. Regardless, we became best friends. “Now, quite your grippin’ at me. Let’s go have some fun.”
Anne took a long breath and decided it wasn't worth debating with me, for which I was grateful. I didn't want to think about Daddy as I was attempting to get away from him. We wandered around the carnival for a time, collecting popcorn and hot dogs and failing badly at a few games. Finally, we came upon this tent with people sitting on seats and bleachers inside. HANK SNOW! said the sign outside. Starring Elvis Presley, the radio's newest hit. I came to a halt, bringing Anne with me. “Let’s go in here.”
We shuffled through the crowd, eventually squeezing into the front row on a bench near the microphone. “This looks excitin’,” I said with a smiled.
She looked about uncomfortably at the other teenage girls who had gathered around us. “I don’t know if we should be here, Laura Jean.” She was muttering as though someone was recording her presence in the seats. “I know about Elvis Presley. I heard his song on the radio with my daddy. He said his singin’ is sinful race music. Usin’ negro rhythms and such.”
“Really?” I know she wanted to discourage me from watching the show, but all her words did was pique my interest.
The stage lights came on a few moments later, and the announcer welcomed us to the Louisiana Hayride. He performed his own routine before welcoming Hank Snow and his band to the stage. They sang original country music, which I must say was rather good. I couldn't help but clap. Singing and piano were the only classes I didn't regret having as a child. For a few hours each day, music had been my happy place. I felt connected to it, as if if I didn't have a voice to talk with, I could at least sing and be heard that way. Mama used to compare me to a bird in a gold cage.
Hank Snow had finished, and the announcer had taken his place on stage. “He’s a young singer from Memphis, Tennessee. Got a song out on the Sun Label. It’s all over the radio. Give him a warm Hayride welcome to a Mr. Elvis Presley!”
Applause erupted once more, and the oddest and craziest looking boy went onto the stage. He held a guitar in his hand. His body was decked up in a pink outfit that I'd only seen individuals in negro clubs wear. He had a lovely face and blue eyes the color of a Louisiana summer day, which were outlined with eyeliner. His dark hair was long and slicked back, with the exception of a whisp of curl that hung on his brow. He appeared to be about to choke on his own breath, as if there were too many people around him and the stage lighting was too bright.
“Elvis how are you this evening?” the announcer asked.
“Just fine. How are you sir?” Through the microphone, his voice was rough and smooth, like brushing your hand across crushed velvet. He spoke with a heavy southern drawl.
“You all geared up with your band there to let us hear your songs?”
“I’m all geared up. But, uh, I’d like to say how happy we are to be down here. It’s a real honor for us to be…Get a chance to appear on the Louisiana Hayride. We’re gonna do a song for you we got out on Sun Records. Uh…” He turned to the announcer. “You got anythin’ else to say, sir?”
“No. I’m ready.”
Elvis exhaled nervously through his mouth. I could see his hand shaking as it lingered over the strings of his guitar from where I was standing. His breath was trembling as he peered out at the packed audience.
“It goes…It goes somethin’ like this,” he finally choked out. He began to sing timidly, the microphone feedback ringing around the room. One of his legs began to quiver, as if he was trying to shake off his anxieties during the performance rather than before.
“Get a haircut fairy!” came a voice from behind me. The audience laughed. I shifted my gaze to a clean-cut blonde lad with excessive acne and crooked teeth.
“Shut it! And let him sing.” While whispering, I poured as much hate into my remarks as I could. The boy merely smiled coyly at me, eyeing me up and down like a dinner plate. I swung around, disgusted, to stare at Elvis, who had ceased his song, sweat streaming down his face. And then, with a single dragged-out note, he transformed into a whole other person. It was as if he had gotten all the confidence in the world just by acting as if it were the only thing he was intended to do. He moved his legs and hips in mesmerizing motions more scandalous than I had ever been permitted to witness. Screams began to emerge from the seats, but not panic screams. These were cries of delight emanating from girls my age, who were approaching the stage like zombies ravenous for a meal. They were all around us now, and Anne and I had no choice but to stand or be knocked over and trampled by shouting girls. We were pushed all the way to the front of the most raucous crowd I'd ever heard. My chest was forced into the stage, trapping me between the girls and the boy they were attempting to reach. When I looked to my left, Anne was gone, swept away into the swarm without me. I looked up to see Elvis dancing and swaying to the beat of the song. The girls went even wilder. Those that could reach clutched at his garments, removing his jacket rather than clawing him to bits. Elvis dropped to his knees and sang into the microphone, his guitar having been left somewhere during the music break. In the midst of a crowd, his gaze fell on mine and lingered. With a half-smile on his face, he was singing directly to me. I wasn't yelling or grasping for a piece of him; I was just standing there listening to the music and watching the performance. I couldn't take my eyes off him. I was diving further into the tide pools, enthralled in those eyes. Because he didn't look away, I scarcely noticed when he stopped singing. His chest was heaving up and down swiftly, and sweat was streaming down his face and neck. He had the appearance of a superhero fresh from battle. The curtain closed behind him, but he remained motionless. I couldn't stop myself from smiling at him. Hands from behind the curtain grabbed his shoulders and yanked him away. Even so, he didn't stop staring at me until the ruffled curtains were completely closed and we were both out of each other's sight.
I snapped out of the hypnosis I had been in as he left. He was captivating, everything and nothing at the same time. The crowd was starting to thin, so I decided to go find Anne, whom I hadn't seen since we were pushed up in the crowd. I walked out of the tent and waited for it to empty, but I didn't see her come out. This was perfect. What could have happened to her? I went away from the performance tent, peering in the gaps between the game and food tents in case she had been waiting for me there. I was looking in a particularly dim spot near the carousel and behind a massive sign when I heard a familiar voice ask, “So, did you enjoy hearing that fairy sing after all?”
I spun around. It was the boy who had been sitting behind me and heckling Elvis when he came on stage. He was taller than he was sitting, but not any more handsome. I stood firm, as if he hadn't just startled me. “Actually, I did. No thanks to you and your bad manners.”
He took a step closer to me. I tried to back up, but his legs were longer than mine, so he was able to bridge the gap between us. “What’s a pretty little doll like you doing wasting your time with sissy boys like that?”
“And I should be wastin’ my time with a boy like you who corners girls in the dark?”
“Come on now, doll. I know you got a little fire in you from the way you talked back to me.” He drew my skirt closer to him, and I pressed against his chest. “You like to have a little fun, don’t cha?”
His hot breath enveloped my cheeks, and no matter how hard I tried, he was stronger than me. When I struggled, he placed his arm around my waist, trapping me in place. He attempted to kiss me, but I was able to release one of my hands and slap him across the face. His head twitched, but it wasn't enough to get him to let go of me. “Get off me, you bastard!”
A scratch mark had formed on the side of his cheek, and he was no longer amused by my attempts to reject him. He appeared agitated. “You’re gonna pay for that, you bitch!”
He grabbed my hair and yanked it out of its ponytail. I whimpered as he seized a fistful in his palm and a new pair of footsteps joined us. I was able to release myself after the boy loosened his grip in attempt to see who was interrupting his assualt. I turned around to see who my mysterious savior had been. Elvis. He was dressed in the same pink slacks and lace top he had worn on stage, but he was no longer charming. He appeared to have fire in his eyes.
“Is that how you treat a lady?” he asked the boy.
The boy smirked completely, utterly unafraid. “Back off, Nancy boy. This ain’t got nothin’ to do with you.”
“It does because…you see, my mama taught me how to treat a lady. And that means when she says, ‘get away’ you get.”
The boy was now face to face with Elvis. “Last chance. Mind your own business or I’ll mind it for ya.”
Elvis chuckled. “You wanna try that with me, boy? Because you’ll regret it if you don’t walk away.”
The boy did not back down. Elvis punched him in the right face and then in the stomach. Elvis' knee landed directly in the boy's face before he could even recover. Elvis went down with the boy when he slumped over onto his back. Elvis reached into his pocket and pulled out a pocketknife, which clicked open with a flash. He snatched the boy's hair and pushed the knife against his neck. He had such a hard hold on him that he couldn't move without slicing his own throat. “Now, apologize to the little lady,” he hissed.
The boy now appeared absolutely afraid, to the point that I believed he was going to pass out. “I-I’m sorry. A-And I’m sorry f-for callin’ you a fairy.”
Elvis pressed the knife into the boy's throat, causing a thin line of blood to form. “Please! It’s alright, I’m fine. Just let him go. He was bein’ stupid.”
He cast a glimpse over his shoulder at me, and I was frozen in that deep gaze for a split second before he returned to the boy he had still placed flat on his back. “If you ever cross me again, she won’t be here to stop me.” He pushed the boy's head into the dirt before standing up and placing his knife back into his pocket. The boy jumped to his feet and dashed through the crowd as quickly as he could.
It was now just me and Elvis. As he approached me, he dusted the dirt from his hands. I had picked up my dropped bag and was crushing it against my chest. The angry and protective man I had just witnessed was replaced by the shy boy I had just witnessed on stage. “You sure you’re alright, darlin’?”
“I’m fine. He was just some ill-mannered country boy.”
Elvis chuckled as he took a breath. He smiled at me again, a warm and deadly combination. “You’re not scared of me?”
I raised a brow. “Why should I be?”
“Any other girl wound seein’ me pull a knife out on somebody.” My back was pressed against the wood of the sign we were behind. He leaned against it and placed one hand by my head.
“I’ve been around people much more dangerous than you my whole life. It’s not the first time I’ve seen weapons drawn.”
This piqued his interest. I had the impression he wanted to say more on the matter, but thought it was better if he didn't. “You were in the front row of my performance,” he said instead.
I appreciated the shift in topics. “I was. You did really well. All those girls liked it.”
“Did you like it?” He appeared genuinely concerned about my response.
I gave him a small smile. “I did. You were amazing. Though it did get a little out of hand back there.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I didn’t mean for that to happen. This was my first time performin’ and I didn’t really know what to do.”
“Really? You could have fooled me. You looked like you knew exactly what to do up there.”
“Now you’re just butterin’ me up.”
“I’m serious, Elvis. You were magic.” And I really meant it. I'd never been more sincere about anything in my life.
Elvis's grin broadened. He was so attractive, yet so quiet and gentle, with a tinge of mystery that I wanted to unravel. I'd never met a boy like him before. I wasn't sure if I'd ever do it again. He leaned in closer to me, and I thought for a split second that he was going to kiss me right there. Instead, he asked, “What’s your name?”
For a second, I had completely forgotten what my name was. “Its—”
“Laura Jean!” Anne sprinted over to me. Elvis retreated while keeping a safe distance as she gave me a firm hug. “Oh my stars, where have you been? I lost you in the crowd and I’ve been lookin’ all over for you ever since.”
“I was lookin’ for you. And I got…sidetracked.” I cast a glance across at Elvis. Anne turned her head, as if she hadn't realized he was there. I swallowed and cleared my throat. “Anne, this is Elvis. Elvis, this is my friend, Anne.”
Elvis tipped his head at her. “Mighty nice to meet ya.”
Anne locked her gaze on him for a few moments, her whole body tight and her eyes wide. She appeared to have come across a ghost rather than the performer we had just seen. She grabbed my arm. “We should go. It’s gettin’ late and my parents will be worried. Your daddy too.”
I scowled, knowing she was only trying to get out of this mess. Still, she was correct. Her parents would freak out if she didn't come home soon. I didn't care what my father said about my still being out. “Fine. We can go. Goodbye, Elvis.”
Anne drew me away till another hand grabbed my free arm. Elvis frowned at me. “See you later, Laura Jean.” And with another of those mysterious smiles, he softly let go of my arm, and I faded into the crowd with Anne as he watched me leave.
STAY TUNED FOR PART 2! Click HERE to view!
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Unforgettable | E!Austin Butler X Plus!Reader | Part 9
Warnings: Allusion to SA, as discussed in previous chapter. That's about it!
Word Count: 6.1K
Have you read part 8?
Summary: He doesn't usually do it, but in times like these, Elvis isn't afraid to flex his status if it means that he can get home to you as fast as possible--even if it is in the middle of the night on a full flight.
Elvis gathered his belongings from the hotel room, packing a bag as fast as he could, his heart racing as he practically jogged around the room. He rushed his way through a shower, not even bothering to comb his long hair back into his usual coif. It hung limply in his face, dripping beads of water down onto his nose. He shoved as much as he could fit into the duffel bag, taking no time to straighten, fold or pack the items nicely. He sat on the edge of the bed and dialed 0 on the phone. “Operator, Beverly Wilshire, how can I help you?” A woman’s voice began.
“Concierge, please,” he asked.
“Yes, sir. Just one moment,” she said. Elvis heard a small click on the other side of the receiver and heard the dial tone continue to ring.
“Front desk, Beverly Wilshire.”
“Hello, This is Elvis Presley in room 456. I would like my car pulled up for me.”
“Oh, of course. Right now?” The concierge confirmed.
“Yes sir. Immediately–as soon as you can, I mean,” Elvis backtracked, fearing that he was rude.
“It would be my pleasure, sir. We will have your car prepared for you in five minutes.”
“Thank you very much,” Elvis said appreciatively before hanging up the phone, walking into the bathroom to take one last look at himself before stepping out of the hotel room. He ran a comb through his dripping hair, tidying it the best he could with what little time he had. He wore a simple white t-shirt, but he saved a casual sport’s coat to pull over it so that he could look presentable. In the mirror, he didn’t look like himself. His complexion wore quite pale, his eyebrows struggled to relax, and his hands kept pulling into fists, his emotions swirling somewhere between anger and fear. He looked at himself once more in the mirror before determining that he had a job to do, and that nothing else mattered. He needed and wanted to be with you. Though it didn’t make sense, he silently blamed himself for not being there with you in Memphis. He beat himself up for it as he walked down the hotel hallways. At this late hour, he was grateful that there weren’t many people milling about the hotel. He was bound to be recognized, but he hoped that it wouldn’t turn into a mob. He took the elevator down and watched the button for each floor illuminate as it went down. He cursed to himself as it stopped on the seventh floor, opening for two adults and a small child. They all held hands with each other, the kid toddling in last, taking her sweet time to cross the threshold of the elevator.
“Sumi Lee, come on, sweetheart. Let’s not keep this gentleman waiting any longer.” The little girl held a red dog pulled snuggly against her chest. The woman looked up at Elvis and nodded apologetically at him. “Sorry, Mr. Presley. Little kids,” She explained. She knew who he was, but didn’t make a show of it. Elvis smiled kindly, squatting lower on the child’s level.
“It’s safe in here, little one.” He beckoned Sumi Lee forward into the elevator with a friendly wave. She smiled sweetly, stepping into the elevator, hugging the dog and squeezing it tight before pushing it to Elvis to take.
“For me?” Elvis asked, reaching for the toy.
“Hug!” she said, speaking for the first time.
“A hug he wants, a hug he gets!” Elvis answered, taking the stuffed animal and pulling it tight against his chest, kissing the top of its head. He grunted like one would during the tightest of hugs. “He’s a good hugger, little Sumi Lee.” Elvis handed the toy back to her. “Thank you for letting me give him a hug. I think I needed it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Presley,” The father said, maintaining a reserved and quiet demeanor.
“Elvis,” he said, extending his hand for the man to take. The man looked at Elvis's hand for a long moment, as if unsure what to do. He offered his hand finally, shaking it firmly. “Have a wonderful night, sir.” Elvis said, ending the conversation. “Goodbye sweetie,” he said, bending down to kiss the child on the top of her head, right in between her two pigtails. She giggled softly.
“Bye, bye mister!” Elvis smiled softly before stepping out of the elevator toward the front desk.
“Mr. Presley,” the concierge said discreetly. “Your vehicle is right outside. The valet will assist with your bag as well as giving you the key.” Elvis nodded and thanked him before stepping out of the hotel.
“Here you are, sir,” the valet said. This time, it wasn’t Michael, but another man. “May I help you with your bag?” he asked, extending his hands. Elvis gave the man his bag, watching the valet load it into the trunk of the car and arrive back with the key. “Have a wonderful evening, Mr. Presley.” The valet nodded respectfully before stepping back from the vehicle. If Elvis had more time and was less stressed, he would have given him a sizable tip.
“Thank you,” Elvis said distantly before stepping into the Cadillac, and driving it out of the porte cochére and onto the main road. He drove through the Hollywood Hills, wasting no time. His destination was LAX, Los Angeles International Airport. It was approaching eleven P.M., and chances were slim that there would be any flights available at that time, but he had to try. He was Elvis Presley, after all. He arrived at the airport some time later, pulling into the Park N’ Go parking lot. He threw his car keys in his pocket and jogged into the airport toward the check in counter. The woman behind it was talking to a flight stewardess who looked quite disheveled.
“I missed the flight. I’m going to get canned, Roxy.” She said, leaning over the counter dejectedly.
“Just smile and look pretty tomorrow morning when you clock in. Maybe they’ll go easy on you,” Roxy responded, obviously trying her best to comfort the other woman.
“Excuse me,” Elvis said, clearing his throat. The women went silent as they turned towards him. Usually, he would have been enthused to watch their jaws go slack as they recognized him. He continued to speak, cutting off their opportunity to fawn over him. “My name is Elvis–”
“Presley!” The flight attendant said, her voice way too loud.
“Shhhhh,” he said softly, putting his hands up. “Yes,” he nodded. “I’m trying to find the next flight to Memphis, TN. It’s an emergency and I’m trying to get home.”
“I-I’m sorry to hear that. Let me check the books.” The woman behind the counter said. She looked nervous, but seemed determined to help. “Bad news,” she said after a moment. “Boarding just closed. The flight looks full.” She looked up from the book at Elvis. Her expression was regretful but she didn’t seem ready to give up.
“I have an idea!” The cute stewardess said after a moment. “But we’ve got to run.” She looked at Elvis and back at Roxy. She reached down for her heels and removed them, holding them in her hand.
“Oh you weren’t kidding,” Elvis said with an impressed grin.
“Not in the slightest. Come on,” she said, grabbing Elvis’s hand as she sprinted toward the gate. She ran fast. So fast that Elvis and Roxy had trouble keeping up.
“Woman, my legs are going to fall off before we get there!” He huffed, offering her a bright grin. “What’s your name?”
“Darlene!” She said. “You gotta get home, and I need to save my job!” He chuckled at her as he jogged.
They arrived at the gate with five minutes to spare from takeoff. A man stood just outside of the external gate exit, closing and locking the steel door. “Jeffrey!” Roxy croaked, stumbling to a halt as she caught her breath. “I–I need you to open the door.”
“What?” Are you kidding me? You know I can’t do that. The flight has to fly on schedule.” Jeffrey eyed her with confusion.
“Good evening, sir.” Elvis stepped forward, causing Jeffery’s eyes to practically jump out of his skull. “Sir, I’ve got a family emergency. I’m trying to get home to Memphis.”
“I–I’m sorry sir, but the flight is full.” Jeffrey said, walking around the receptionist podium toward the record log.
“I might not have a job tomorrow, so I’ll do it,” Darlene said, stepping forward.
“Excuse me?” Jeffrey asked.
“You saw nothing,” Darlene warned, eyeing Jeffrey as she stepped forward to the door, prying open the lock and pulling on the door. It opened, but only after she man-handled it open, using her entire body in the process. “Wait, it’s not safe. You’re breaking so many rules!” He shouted after her. She was already gone before anyone could do anything about it. The trio stood inside watching her flag down the pilots. To their amazement, they unlatched and lowered the stairs for her to board the plane.
Darlene walked up the stairs with dignity, heading to the cockpit. “Young lady, what do you think you’re doing?” The co-pilot said, swiveling in his seat to watch her step into the small space.
“Risking my job for Elvis Presley.” She admitted frankly. “Listen, he’s got a family emergency. Trying to get home to Memphis.”
“Yeah and I’m Buddy Holly,” he said with a sarcastic chuckle. “Earl, listen to this woman. Says she’s got Elvis Presley wanting to get on the plane.” The pilot turned, removing his radio headset to look back at Darlene.
“Honey, what is your motive? We’re fully staffed. You’re pretty and all, but we don’t need another stewardess.”
“You don’t understand. Elvis Presley is standing at the gate door.” Darlene looked outside of the plane, hoping that they didn’t shut the door. To her relief, she watched them standing, talking to each other. “Look!” She pointed out of the window. “Look up!” Both pilots peered out of the cockpit. The co-pilot practically climbed over Earl. Their jaws dropped when they saw him.
“Holy cow, you weren’t kidding!” Earl said, looking back at Darlene with bewilderment. “We can’t do anything about the flight, though.”
“Well, people have to get off planes to allow others to get on board.” She said, as if posing a proposition.
“What exactly are you saying?”
"It's Elvis Presley. You can't tell me no one would be willing to jump off the plane for him." Darlene bit at her bottom lip, waiting for the pilot to consider.
"If someone offers to deboard, he can get on. No special treatment, though. My plane won't be turning into a party.
"I don't think that's his goal. Would you mind if he announced his situation on the intercom?" Darlene asked.
"Let me meet the guy first." He said, standing and crawling out of the cockpit.
"Mike, I'll be right back. Don't make any announcements just yet." The co-pilot nodded and turned his attention to the control panel of the cockpit, grabbing a control book from one of the compartments of the aircraft. Darlene watched him initiate the checklist sequence before turning and following the pilot out of the plane.
"It's Elvis Presley. You can't tell me no one would be willing to jump off the plane for him." Darlene bit at her bottom lip, waiting for the pilot to consider.
"If someone offers to deboard, he can get on. No special treatment, though. My plane won't be turning into a party.
"I don't think that's his goal. Would you mind if he announced his situation on the intercom?" Darlene asked.
"Let me meet the guy first." He said, standing and crawling out of the cockpit.
"Mike, I'll be right back. Don't make any announcements just yet." The co-pilot nodded and turned his attention to the control panel of the cockpit, grabbing a control book from one of the compartments of the aircraft. Darlene watched him initiate the checklist sequence before turning and following the pilot out of the plane.
Darlene struggled to hide her growing smirk as she watched the pilot strut across the tarmac and into the gate. He adjusted his gait as he laid eyes on Elvis, clearing his throat and straightening his already-neatly placed necktie.
"Good evening," Earl said, offering a hand out for Elvis to take. Elvis took the pilot's hand and shook it firmly.
"Good evening, sir. Sorry to stir up trouble," Elvis said, offering an apologetic smile.
"Eh, it's no sweat off my back. Heard there's an emergency back home?" He said, expectant for an answer. Knowing it would take far too long to explain, he opted to lie.
"My Dad is sick...they tell me it's pneumonia, that he's not doing too well." Earl took his cap off and ran his fingers through his crew cut.
"Gosh, I'm so sorry to hear that, sir." He said, his expression full of concern. "Let's see if we can get you home, shall we?"
Earl led Elvis out of the gate, waving goodbye to Darlene, Roxy, and Jeffrey. "Wait," Elvis stopped the pilot. "Miss Darlene has been so helpful. Can we get her on this flight to work? She missed her other flight. I don't want her to get in trouble." The pilot looked over Elvis's head at Darlene before returning his gaze. "I will speak with her superiors and tell them that she was a big help in getting you to your final destination. Though, if you would, it wouldn't hurt to write a letter explaining the situation. Hearing the story from Elvis Presley himself says more than from a measly pilot," Earl chuckled. Elvis noticed the slightest bit of nervousness from the pilot, though he didn't comment on it. Earl trained to stay calm, so it was rare to see any hint of vulnerability from someone in his position.
"You're doing many people a great act of service," Elvis said, patting the pilot on his shoulder. "Say, are you a serviceman?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. Earl nodded. "Second Battalion, five-hundred third Infantry Regiment."
"Thank you for your service, sir. Even if I don't get on your plane, thank you." Elvis offered his hand, which the pilot took.
Earl led the way back into the plane, grabbing the microphone for the intercom. "Ladies and gentlemen, I do apologize for the delay. I have someone here who would like to speak with you." Earl handed the receiver over to Elvis.
"Uh, good evenin' everyone." Elvis began, creating a stir in the cabin.
"That's not Elvis," a woman barked. Another younger teen jumped up from her seat.
"It is! Saw him walk out to the plane!"
The plane began to chatter loudly, making Elvis nervous. He pulled back the curtain that obscured the cockpit from view. Stepping out to wear passengers could see him, he continued to speak. A roll of gasps filled the air.
"It's him!"
"Elvis Presley!"
"Shh...Let's hear what he has to say."
Elvis waited for the commotion to die down before continuing. "Hello. I-uh, I'm sorry to inconvenience you on your journey, but I wanted to ask a favor if you're willing." He looked around the cabin at the sea of faces, some very young, some very old.
"See, I've got an emergency back home. My family needs me back in Memphis. I wouldn't usually ask for somethin' like this, but there's no seats on this plane, and it's the last of the night." The crowd remained silent.
“I’d be happy to give free tickets to my next concert. Uh, autographs. Dinner at home in Graceland whenever you want. I will pay it back two times over, you have my word.” One by one, people of all ages began to stand up, ready and willing to give up their seats.
“I want dinner with Elvis!” A teenage girl shouted. Her mother hushed her and sat her back down. The cabin erupted in laughter.
“I’ll get off, Elvis. I’m on business anyway and I have a day in between meetings,” A young man said, standing up from his seat in business class. “Plus, I’ve got family in Los Angeles.”
“Are you sure?” Elvis asked.
“Absolutely.” The man got up and grabbed his belongings and moved into the aisle for Elvis to pass. Despite the more expensive section, women and men still reached out to touch him, as if they were testing if he were truly the celebrity. He was grateful that the man sitting at the window seat couldn’t have cared less about him. He lowered himself into the seat. He looked up into the aisle and shaked the generous man’s hand.
“Please leave your name with the front stewardess. I will reach out to you soon. I’d love to have you home for dinner, if you’re interested. I’ll happily pay for your travel.” The man nodded kindly. “What is your name?” Elvis asked.
“Will–William Satterfield.” He answered.
“Well, Will. I can’t thank you enough. I’ll remember you.” Elvis shook the man’s hand once more before he left. Though the man didn’t seem to mind, Elvis still felt guilty for asking a passenger for their rightful seat. The plane was noisy with conversation as the pilots and crew prepared for takeoff. Passengers got out of their seats to talk to Elvis, climbing over each other and lining up toward the front of the plane.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats for departure.” The pilot spoke from the cockpit, but the people remained clogged in the same area. Elvis turned his head to watch a stewardess walk toward the cockpit. “Attention: in order to taxi the plane to the tarmac, everyone must be in their seats. Otherwise, the plane cannot and will not take off. Those who do not abide by this request will be asked to leave the plane.”
The crowd dispersed reluctantly, murmuring insults as they took their seats. In the last minute, a woman from first class moved into the aisle beside Elvis’s seat. “Trade seats with me.” she whispered, trying her best to not attract attention to herself.
“Huh?” Elvis asked.
“Switch seats with me. For privacy. I don’t need it. I can tell you’re gonna be heckled all night.” She had kind eyes and a beautiful smile. What impressed Elvis more was that she treated him like a person rather than an object. “Besides, I don’t feel like being checked on by the stewardesses every five minutes.” Elvis nodded with appreciation.
“Thank you, honey. I really appreciate it.”
“Don’t mention it. Get home safe. The woman squeezed Elvis’s hand fondly before letting him move up closer to the front of the plane, taking the woman’s previous seat. He was grateful for the personal space, as well as the privacy screen that could be pulled down from the ceiling of the plane. In truth, after so much socialization, he wasn’t feeling very charismatic. He played it off well, but his stomach churned with unease, the miles in between Memphis seeming to go on and on forever. He leaned his head against the window, letting the undulation of the plane’s engine lull him into slumber.
***
Four hours later, his eyes flew open, his head jerking downward in reflex as the bright cabin lights clicked on. “Good–very early–morning, everyone. We will be landing in Memphis in fifteen minutes. Please keep all items stowed in the bin in front of you, stay seated and prepare for landing.” The intercom dinged as the stewardess finished speaking and the lights dimmed again. Elvis rubbed the sleep from his eyes, straightening himself in his seat. In the idle time, he took a small notepad out of his back pocket, as well as the pen from his checkbook and began writing.
Thirty thousand feet above and only thinking of you. Sending me higher and higher than airplanes fly. I’m thinking of you, only of you…I can’t focus on anything but you. Even when it’s another woman, another actress, no matter the beauty, the grace or talent, your face dominates my view. I only ever think of you, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way…my heart jumps out of my chest with the chance to call you mine…it’s a shame I haven’t gotten to ask you yet.
“Prepare for landing,” a voice announces on the intercom, prompting Elvis to put away the notepad, flipping the book closed and sliding it, as well as the pen, into his pocket. He was among the first to leave the airplane, and he did so quickly, trying his best to avoid the crowd behind him. He practically sprinted down the terminal toward the airport entrance. The airport wasn’t busy in the slightest, but he just couldn’t handle having to talk to more people. He made his way toward the front reception area towards an older looking man. He hedged his bets with the man, hoping he wouldn’t make a show of seeing Elvis in person.
“Sir, My name is Elvis Presley. Can you tell me where I could make a phone call? Somewhere a bit more private?” The man looked up at Elvis with a gentle smile. “Of course, sir. The Admiral’s Club is around the corner to the left. It is private for our most valued patrons.” He winked at Elvis. “My daughter loves your music, by the way. You look tired, so I won’t make a fuss. Can’t wait to tell her I met you.”
“What’s her name?” Elvis asked, reaching for his notebook, turning it to a new blank page.
“Gladys. Gladys Ann.” The man answered.
Elvis looked up at him with interest. “That’s my Mama’s name!” He took his pen and scrawled a quick note.
To Gladys, the sweetest of the bunch. Love, Elvis.
He tore off the piece of paper and gave it to the man. “Thank you, young man. Best of luck to you. She will be over the moon! Go on now, I’m expecting a crowd any minute with the next flight.” The man shooed Elvis away, trying his best to be considerate of his privacy. Above his head across the lobby, he saw a sign directing him to the Admiral’s Club. He didn’t want special treatment, he just wanted a phone and a few minutes of peace.
“Hello, sir.” Elvis said, stepping into the club, which was pretty much deserted except for a middle aged business man smoking a cigar in the far corner of the lounge. Elvis leaned over the reception desk. The concierge sat in his chair reading a novel. He looked up at Elvis.
“Oh my goodness. I am so sorry…Mr. Presley! Wow!” He checked his wrist watch at the time. “Wow, you’re certainly here early.”
Elvis offered a charismatic smile. “Yes, well a red eye flight wasn’t really my plan, but here we are,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pants pockets. “I was wondering if I could borrow your phone so that I may call a car to pick me up.”
“Oh, sir. I’d be happy to call the car service myself and order you one. It’s not a problem,” he said, picking up the phone from the receiver. “Thank you sir. From here to 3764 Highway Fifty-One South. Oh and please say that the car is for a Mister Vince Jones.” The concierge nodded, confused for a moment. He realized that Elvis was trying to be discreet and ordered the vehicle promptly.
“Ten minutes, Mr. Presley. We’re glad to have you home.” He offered Elvis a kind smile. “Please,” he waved around the lounge. “Take a seat, or we can offer you a drink, maybe coffee if you are interested…”
Elvis shook his head politely. “No thank you, but I appreciate the offer, sir. Just tryin’ to get home. Surprising my family for a few days.” It wasn’t completely a lie. His family didn’t know he was in Memphis, so they were bound to be joyful to see him.
He nodded. “Understood. Well, it was lovely to meet you, Elvis.” The gentleman reached his hand forward. Elvis shook it with enthusiasm.
“Thank you, sir!” He offered a kind smile and loitered quietly around the lounge until he saw a man in a suit walk into the airport from across the corridor. He held up a sign that read ‘Vince Jones.’ Elvis gave a kind two-finger wave to the concierge before stepping out of the lounge and making his way across the airport, looking cautiously to his left and right for fear of being spotted. Elvis walked towards the chauffeur hoping that he would continue being discreet. His eyes widened slightly with recognition, but he was extremely professional.
“Good Morning, Mr. Jones.” Elvis nodded with a gentle smile. “Good morning, sir.”
“May I take your bag?” The driver asked. Elvis handed his duffle bag to him to take and he took the lead out of the airport. He opened the back door for Elvis to sit before closing it and putting the bag into the trunk. He walked around the car to the driver seat and got in, turning the key in its ignition.
“Graceland?” The Driver said, turning in his seat to look at Elvis, offering a knowing smile.
“Yes, please. Thank you for not making a scene in there.” Elvis said. For the first time since he left, he felt like he could finally relax.
“Of course. It’s part of my job. You look tired–I mean that as respectful as I can…I just know when someone wants attention and when they don’t. Also, ‘Vince Jones?’ Kinda gave it away.” Elvis offered a thin smile. “Happy to serve you, Elvis. Let’s get you home before the sun rises, hm?” He turned back over the steering wheel and began driving. Elvis laid his head against the window, watching the familiar scenery pass his view. Even in the dark, he could recognize the diners, schools, grocery stores and churches as they passed. He must have nodded off, lulled into sleep from the drone of the vehicle.
“Mr. Presley? You’re home, sir.” Elvis opened his eyes. The driver had pulled around the front of the house, which was dimly lit by the small sconces that hung on the outside of the house. Elvis sat up in his seat, stretching. The driver stepped out of the vehicle and opened Elvis’s door for him. Elvis stepped out, his face contorting with an exhausted yawn. Elvis took his duffle bag from the man, paid him generously and walked toward the quiet house. His keys jingled as he unlocked the front door and stepped in. He looked around the familiar rooms, feeling weirdly out of place. Of course, he had come home at strange times in the day before, but rarely ever was he completely alone. Most of the time, he’d have someone home to greet him. He considered walking straight up the stairs to his bedroom to get a few hours of sleep without telling anyone, but he knew that his mother would have appreciated him coming to greet her upon his arrival.
He walked towards his parent’s room and opened the door slowly, cringing slightly when the door squeaked within its hinges. He’d fix that later. He walked around the bed past his snoring father to the other side to wake his mother. He knelt down and shook her lightly by her shoulder. “Mama. Hey. Mama…” She gasped awake, hearing the voice, but not immediately recognizing it as Elvis’s. Her eyes trained on him finally and she pulled her hands up to touch his face. “Elvis? Baby?” She sat up in bed. “What in the world are you doin’ home?”
“I’ve got a friend I need to help.” He said, bending to kiss her softly on the forehead. “I just wanted to let you know I was home. Probably only for a couple days, but I’m here.” He moved back down on his knees so that his mother could look at him.
“Baby you look like you’re runnin’ with the dead. You look tired–and are they feeding you? You’re too skinny.” Elvis shook his head with a soft smile.
“Yes, mama. It’s just cause I’ve been travelin’.” He said, raking his hand through his hair. “I’m gonna go get a couple hours of sleep. I love you.” He kissed her on the cheek before getting up from his knees.
“I can make you breakfast the way you like–with the extra sausage wieners with ketchup–” She squeezed Elvis’s arm lovingly.
“Oh Mama, save that for tomorrow morning. I’ll probably be on my way to my friend’s house before breakfast anyway.”
“Who is this friend, anyway?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. She asked the one question that caused him to blush. Even in the low light of the bedroom, his mother saw it. “It’s a lady friend, isn’t it?” She asked with a knowing grin. Elvis considered lying, but something compelled him not to.
“Yes, Mama. I want you to meet her. She’s wonderful. Beautiful, sweet….thoughtful.” Gladys nodded, pulling the covers around her. “Did you meet her in hollywood? Some toe-headed blond girl with long legs…” She spoke as if she had one day wished to fit the imagine of the woman she described.
“No. She’s from here. Memphis. I met her before I left for the movie.” Gladys nodded. “A southern belle?” She asked with an impressed smile.
“One with a brain, Ma’. She’s all I can think about.” He took his mother’s hand, squeezing it softly.
“Oh, baby. That’s just wonderful. Are you surprising her?” She asked.
Elvis nodded. “Yes. Got a late flight so I wouldn’t be bombarded by fans.” Gladys nodded.
“That’s good. Well, sweetheart. Go get some sleep. Ill see you later. Maybe I can fix you a tomato sandwich like you like?” Elvis chuckled softly.
“You know I can never say no to you, mama.” He bent to kiss her on the top of her head before stepping out of the bedroom. “Love you, mama.”
“You too, baby.” Elvis closed the door softly before stepping into the kitchen, walking to the fridge to pour a large glass of milk. He leaned against the counter, feeling the tension in his shoulders throb into a dull ache as it finally began to relax. He didn’t know how it would go, but somehow he needed to be with you. He prayed that Harold would understand and accept his surprise arrival.
***
Elvis was up early…he had barely slept, but it wasn’t anything that he wasn’t used to.; Insomnia had plagued him for several years. It was the stress of knowing that someone he cared about was hurting that made him feel beaten down. He still got out of bed, propelled by the guarantee of seeing you. He made the effort to look nice, taking a shower, shaving and combing his hair neatly. He spritzed on a few sprays of Old Spice before reaching for an outfit. Today, he would go for something more relaxed. He chose a blue and white seersucker cotton button-down and paired it with a dark pair of trousers and a pair of black oxfords. He walked out to the dining room where his parents sat, eating breakfast and discussing the headlines in the morning paper.
“I’m headed out, Mama, Daddy.” He came around and gave them both kisses on the tops of their heads. “Not sure when I’ll be back, but I’ll be around.” Elvis turned and began walking out.
“Elvis!” Gladys called after him.
“Yes, Mama?” He asked, turning around.
“Don’t bring crowds to this poor girl’s house. Try to be discreet?” She said, lowering his gaze to him. “If she’s just a normal girl, she probably wants as normal of an Elvis as she can get.” Elvis nodded quietly. As he walked out of the house, he got an idea. He headed for one of his Cadillacs and drove out to the main road.
An hour later, he walked out of the nearest dealership with the keys and registration to a 1956 Chevrolet Belair in Nassau Blue. The salesman offered–begged even, to deliver Elvis’s Cadillac Coupe DeVille to Graceland. Yes, this car was new, but at the same time, it was one of the most purchased vehicles in the country. Elvis figured that with this purchase, he would attract much less attention than with his own luxury cars that he liked to drive. Twenty minutes later, he pulled into your driveway. It was just past ten A.M, yet the house was still quiet. Elvis looked around the cul de sac to make sure that he wasn’t being watched. When he felt comfortable enough, he stepped out of the vehicle and headed to the front door. He thought about knocking, then saw the doorbell. He rang it and stepped away from the door. Uncle Harold pulled the door open.
“Elvis?” He asked, shaking his head with confusion. “Wh-what are you doing here?” He paused for a moment before speaking again. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t expect you.”
“That’s quite alright, sir. Um, Evelyn told me what happened.” Uncle Harold shifted in place. It was obvious that it made him uncomfortable to talk about. “I came home. For her.”
Uncle Harold nodded slowly, though there was still suspicion in his eyes. “All the way from Hollywood?” He asked.
“Got the first flight I could find…last person on the plane,” he chuckled nervously.
“She’s still asleep.”
“That’s okay, I’m willing to wait for her to wake up. If that’s alright with you, sir.” Uncle Harold nodded slowly, peering over Elvis’s shoulder. “New car?”
Elvis turned to join Uncle Harold’s gaze. “Figured it would be less flashy than the Cadillac.” Uncle Harold grinned, opening the door for him. “Come on in, son.”
“Daddy! Breakfast is up–I burnt the bacon, though.” Evelyn announced, walking into the dining room with two full plates.
“Sweetheart,” Uncle Harold began.
“I know, I know, I was cooking on too high of heat.” She said sheepishly.
“Looks delicious!” Elvis said enthusiastically, causing Evelyn to look up.
“Elvis! Wow that was fast!” She said, setting down the plates and stepping forward to give Elvis a warm hug. “How did you get home so fast? I called you LATE.”
Elvis nodded as he squeezed her into a hug. “Had to practically beg someone to give up their seat on the last plane to Memphis from LAX.”
“How on earth did you manage that?” Evelyn asked.
“Well, I mean,” Elvis said, blushing softly. “I’m kinda–”
“I forgot. You’re so normal.” She said with a grin, sitting down at the table. Uncle Harold joined her.
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“I don’t mind if you go up to see Y/n.” Uncle Harold said, checking his watch. “Sure she’d like to see you. Plus, she really should get up.”
Elvis nodded. “Thank you, sir. Door open.”
Uncle Harold smiled and nodded, enthused. “Door open.”
***
She’s so beautiful, Elvis thought as he watched from the doorway as you slept. Sun rays cut through your curtains, spraying light into the bedroom. You were snuggled tightly within the covers, your hair puffed around your head in a halo. Your foot stuck out from the covers at the end of the bed causing Elvis to smile softly as he entered your room. He pulled at the comforter, covering you better. He leaned over you and kissed your temple. As soon as he saw you, his heart sprung to life with boyish excitement. You adjusted in bed, pulling the covers back up to your chest, still withdrawn to sleep. Elvis chuckled softly. “You’re so peaceful, Cheeks.” Elvis murmured softly, brushing the stray hairs from your face, tucking them behind your ear. You felt it. You smelled him. Was this a dream? You felt your body drift within the current of consciousness, teasing the idea of waking up before withdrawing again. You heard a soft tune being hummed. You had heard it before. Consciousness prevailed, letting you open your eyes for the first time. And he was there. Finally. Just when you needed him.
“Elvis?” You asked, confused.
“Hello, Cheeks.” Elvis smiled softly.
“Elvis–oh my–” You reached out for him, though your muscles ached from the ordeal with Adam. Elvis squeezed you tightly, not realizing the pain he was inflicting. At the same time, you didn’t care. You could have clung to him for a lifetime within that embrace.
“I’m here, honey. I’m here. And I’m so, so sorry.” He held you protectively, tucking your head into the curve of his neck. “I'll make that sorry son of a bitch pay.”
End of Part 9.
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#Austin Butler#Elvis#Elvis Presley#Austin Butler fanfic#austin butler x reader#austin butler fanfiction#austin butler imagine#elvis presley#austin butler fanfic#elvis#Elvis Presley X Reader#Austin Butler X Reader#austin butler#austin butler fic#austin butler fluff#Austin Butler angst#Elvis Presley angst#elvis presley angst#austin!elvis angst#e!Austin Butler x Plus!Reader#unforgettable#part 9
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Here’s another small extract from my upcoming dom!Austin x shy!girlfriend!reader one shot.
➡️ read the entire work here!
18+ content below the cut MDNI.
"You're such a good little girl for me, you know this?" his voice gets deeper enough to make you feel soaked as he tucks your hair behind your ear.
"So submissive" he praises you in a whisper, his calloused digits moving to caress your cheek, allowing you to surrender to his touch by resting your head on his thigh.
“So responsive" the intense feeling of the cold gold of his rings hits your warm skin and your spine tingles.
His voice is so soft, yet so firm while he praises you that a weak moan leaves your parted lips, Austin taking advantage of it to shove two of his long fingers in your mouth.
You know what to do so you embrace them with no hesitation and start sucking, wrapping your lips and tongue around his knuckles as the metallic taste grows strong in your mouth.
"So greedy..."
You are a vision to him, you look so tempting that his hand falls on his crotch to palm himself, his growing erection begging to be freed from his slacks and swallowed up by your throat.
As I already said, English is not my first language so I’m currently translating this work (from ITA to ENG) and I can tell you that the warnings will include size kink, praise kink and some other very VERY filthy things. It will be a 5k words piece, should I post it in two parts???✨
I read all your previous requests for the tag list and I wanna thank you sooooo much for em😭😭😭 if you want to be added comment down here, I’ll add you as soon as the one shot will be posted💘
#austin butler#austin butler x y/n#austin butler elvis#austin butler x you#austin butler x priscilla actress reader#austin butler fluff#austin butler x reader#austin butler ff#austin butler smut#austin butler imagine#austin!elvis smut#austin!elvis x reader#austin!elvis fluff#austin!elvis angst#austin!elvis fic#austin!elvis x oc#austin!elvis imagine#austin!elvis x y/n#austin!elvis presley x reader#elvis x reader#elvis imagine#elvis film#baz luhrmann elvis#elvis presley#elvis movie#sebastian kydd#angst#smut#one shot
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Wait for Me (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)
Summary: Tupelo’s favorite son is on his way home to all the expected pomp and circumstance befitting a returning King.
A/N: This is very much inspired by Hadestown and I may or may not blend all the character together so that both Elvis and reader have aspects from all of them. Technically I’m cheating I will admit by combining these two (-, -) requests into one story but I thought it would work well. Not me trying to Posit how WW2 affected the floriculture industry all for a fanfic. But this is apparently how I marry my two hyperfixations of 2022: Hadestown and Elvis. A+ to anyone that can find all the references to both Hadestown and the greek mythos in the story.
Warnings: Yandere!Elvis so expect themes of obsessive, manipulative, and delusional behavior. Kidnapping. Kinda of a stochholme syndrome going on through the later half. Blood and a bit of child abuse depicted (arguably this child deserved it). Emotional Manipulation throughout. Isolation. Touch-starved reader. Innocent reader. Explicit sexual content depicted that includes Penetrative sex (m/f), oral sex (f. and m. recieving), vaginal fingering and handjobs. Outsider POV for the first bit. Probably more that I am blanking on. Excessive use of “Honeybee” and “Rosebud” as a nickname for the reader. Please do not interact if you are under 18.
Word Count: 21k (seriously somebody stop me)
My Masterlist
Dreams are sweet, Until they’re not
Men are kind, Until they aren’t
Flowers bloom, Until they rot, And fall apart
Flowers, Hadestown
Demi has never feared a single man in her life.
Men have done her wrong. Men have humiliated her. Men have even hurt her. But she does not fear them.
That’s how she lived for years, drifting from place to place, belonging to no one as no one belonged to her, unattached and untethered as the wind. Working odd jobs to get by until the next town, but there was a perpetual emptiness in this existence of hers that left her feeling hollow.
And then her sweet little daughter was born and she found something that bound her to this world fully. She knew who the father was, but none of that mattered to her, because her daughter was no man’s, she was hers. He wasn’t good for much, but getting roughly ten acres of land in exchange for never having to deal with either him or his wife again was one of the sweetest deals she had ever heard.
Living on a farm was never where she pictured herself ending up, let alone working and later inheriting a farm that only grew flowers, but Gail, the old caretaker of the land, was a literal godsend in those early days. Gail had that same look in her eyes as someone else who had been wronged by a man, and this kindred spirit would end up more or less adopting Demi as her own.
Her daughter is by far the most beautiful thing to have ever existed, born the first day of spring all balled up fists and shrill cries complete with a scrunched up face.
She was perfect.
Demi made a promise to that tiny creature that night, to never know hunger, to be surrounded by only the most beautiful things the world has to offer, to never be unloved for as long as she should live, and most importantly to never let the world hurt her the same way she was hurt. All of these rather lofty promises to make, but she was determined to keep them.
Those early days were painfully idyllic, caring for flowers, selling the cuttings, all the while her daughter was strapped to her chest. It admittedly did a number on her back, but it was all worth it to remind her what she works for. She doesn’t think there will ever be a day in which she forgets the first time her daughter's tiny hands reached out for a white rose, and just the utter serenity that overcame her in that moment. There is no doubt in her mind that this is where the both of them were meant to be.
As the years passed their little family grew as Demi collected other wayward women, some came and went, others stuck around so long her daughter started calling them her Aunties. Even a war happened a world away, and the farm had to shift focus to making food rather than beauty, but now three years later everything is close to being just as perfect as it was before.
But if there is one saying she wholeheartedly believes, it is that woman plans and man laughs.
Her daughter had been so upset that day and had ended up exhausting herself in Demi’s bed and she thanked whatever force up above for that when she woke in the middle of the night to the sound of rustling in her daughters room. Making sure that her daughter was still asleep she crept silently down the hall, baseball bat in hand, prepared to defend her family from whoever the hell was in her home.
Evidently nothing could have prepared her for what she would find in there, as she walked into her daughter's room and was met with the cornflower blue gaze of a familiar waifish thirteen year old boy.
When he had first started coming around, he was more like a stray cat whom her daughter fed once; annoyingly underfoot but manageable enough with a hose. But the more time he spent the more worried she became.
All of which the day before when she had idly asked her daughter what she did with the boy that day only for her sweet little daughter to innocently respond, “he told me not to tell you.”
Her friends tried to tell her it was puppy love and that it would eventually pass, and just to give it some time to fade. How intervening may just make it worse. But something in her gut told her that there was something about the way he looked at her daughter, the way he spoke to and about her, the way he acted, and that something was that it was all very wrong. If she had to liken it to anything, she imagines that this is the same way a hunter looks upon his mark.
It was beyond anything she’s ever seen in a grown man's eyes, so she never thought she could see something like that in a child's eyes.
Her daughter remained innocent to it, and slowly but surely Demi was trying to edge that boy out of their lives. Sent him home earlier and earlier, kept her from the shop and in the fields, even began to go out of her way to pick up her daughter rather than chance it with walking home by herself.
But now looking at the boy as he eagerly ransacked her daughter's dresser, did she realize she should have better listened to her instinct.
‘Oh hi Miss Demi,” he would say, as though he just wasn’t caught rifling through her daughters drawers. He was clutching tightly to a truly pathetic and haphazardly put together bouquet of flowers, that seemed to be dripping something from the stems. “Do you know where Y/N is? I just wanted to give these to her.”
It was only as she turned on the lights did she see the true horror to be had. Candy apple red, as though it could ever be that innocent, blood was dripping between his fingers and onto the wooden floors below, his face giving no indication that he even noticed, his eyes continually darting behind her as though waiting for someone from behind. The flowers in the chaotic bouquet tell a story of all kinds of love, but the one errant, still-thorned rose tells the story not of love, but of something else… something dark and unspeakable.
Demi acts immediately, grabbing him by the wrist and by the ear and getting him the hell out of her house. For all his protests and attempts to escape her grip, he was no match for the fury of a mother, and with the ruckus the boy is stirring up she silently thanks god that her daughter is such a deep sleeper.
It hurts her having to leave her daughter home alone, but she knows that her daughter's biggest threat is in her grasp.
She’s had to drop the boy off enough times to remember where he lived and she knows his mother well enough to instinctively know she is no doubt up worrying over him. She was proven right seeing the light bleeding through the front windows of the small home.
He is out of the truck before Demi can even fully park it, and he bolts to the door, probably hoping that she will then be forced to leave without talking to his mother about this whole thing. But he is stopped as said woman flies out of the house and catches him in a massive bear hug on the small porch.
He has parents who care for him so much, yet he still acts like this? She wonders to herself. She sees the woman giving her son once over before coming across his wounded hand that had by now begun to congeal and stop bleeding.
“If you know what’s good for him, you’ll make sure he stays the hell away from my property and I best never see you sniffin’ around my child again, boy,” Demi would say, voice ice cold interrupting this warm reunion, pointing a single finger in this boy's face.
“Demi, what’re you talkin’ ‘bout?” his mother would ask, already putting him behind her back, willing to defend him with her life apparently.
Wouldn’t you do the same, a small part of her says.
“Y’know I expected more from you,” Demi said to her fellow mother. “I never would’ve expected you to be the type to raise a boy that would break into a little girls room and go through her drawers. The hell were you even tryin’ to find in there?”
He wouldn’t answer her, but he would look her dead in the eye, with a look that told her he was unrepentant about his actions. Though that mask would crack the slightest bit as his mother took his face in her hands.
“Bewbie… is this true?” the woman would ask her son slowly, unwilling to believe. But his downturned eyes do all the necessary talking.
“Mama she’s crazy,” that little shit would say, trying to deflect, and cowering behind his mothers skirts. “We can’t leave Honeybee with her.”
“I oughta knock all your fuckin’ teeth out for whatchu did. See how good a singer you are then,” she threatens, though that hardly helps her case. But she was willing to do a lot worse if it meant keeping her daughter safe.
“Don’tcha see Mama?” he says, gesturing a hand her way. “She ain’t safe with Miss Demi, and we gotta take her with us.” It’s not so much his words that are disturbing, but the complete and utter conviction that he speaks nothing but the truth that has the hair on the back of Demi’s neck stand up.
That boy’s lucky that his father decided to make his way out there and prevent Demi from making good on her threat.
“Buntyn, go inside,” she would firmly say to her son. He looks as though he were about to protest, until she shoots a look and he backs down, and walks back into his home. His mother takes a moment to process her words, though nothing she says has a chance in hell of quelling the fury in Demi’s heart. “I-I think he’s just actin’ out because we’re gonna to be movin’ soon,” she tries to weakly justify.
“I don’t fuckin’ care what his excuses are, Gladys. Keep a leash on that boy o’ yours if you gotta,” Demi seethes, catching said boy looking out at them from the window. She makes eye contact with him, fully knowing he would hear this next part, “Because I ain’t goin’ to be so nice next time.”
Demi turned around with that threat still hanging in the air and hoped to never see any of them again. It’s a long quiet drive from there, and her fury reaches a near boiling point finding that damned bouquet on the floor, forgotten in all the ruckus, to which she quickly chucks them into the furnace. It feels wrong to burn her own livelihood, but these flowers were now in her eyes tainted and unfit to ever be seen again.
The fury doesn’t fully melt away until she sees the love of her life sitting up from her bed.
“Mama where’d ya go?” you would ask, your tiny fists rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you let out an almost angelic yawn. You are and always will be her baby, and nothing will ever take you away from her.
“Just a stray dog sniffin’ round the house, Rosebud,” Demi would say, lightly scratching her nails down your back, the same way she’s done since you were a newborn. “But don’tchu worry baby, your mama scared it off. Go back to sleep.”
Demi sleeps well that night if only due to the fact that she was able to convince herself (albeit temporarily) that that had all been a bad dream. But once she saw the trail of crimson starting from your bedroom window, there is no denying what had happened the night before. She didn’t get this far by trusting other people's words, so for the next few days the two of you slept in a different room each night. Demi calls it camping and you, her sweet little girl, are all too willing to believe her. She sleeps with one eye open those nights, all too afraid that even dropping her watch for half a second will lead to disaster.
She would find no peace until she heard around town that they had moved somewhere up north. To where? She didn't care so long as he was as far away from her precious Rosebud as could be. Still she is always worried as to the day he may come back, so she can only pray that he’s moved on to another poor girl and leaves you the hell alone.
Part of her wonders if she should warn you in case he ever returns, but this question answers itself when you come home from school wanting to show her how many ladybugs you caught in the schoolyard today. She didn’t want to burden you with this awful knowledge, wanting to keep you innocent from your mothers woes.
Demi wanted to shield you from the world, and hoped that one day, you would also get to live without fearing men. It would take her nine years to realize, by then far too late, that you only lacked fear because you didn’t know what men were capable of.
Demi fears no man.
But she does fear Elvis Presley.
—------------------------------------
Flowers have always been the family business. Fields upon fields of every color in the rainbow going on for acres. Truly even having lived here for years and knowing little to nothing else but this, it still never fails to take your breath away.
To say your family knows flowers, is an understatement. You had spent your days running around the property asking your aunties about the flowers they tended to, and what each of them meant.
You learned from an early age that flowers were always meant to invoke good feelings in people, and it makes you proud that you’re a part of it. So you’re excited to say the least when your Mama surprises you with your very own gardening kit for Christmas.
It’s a rite of passage for those in your family to successfully grow and maintain their own plot of flowers for the first time. You had been given the choice of any flower you wanted to take on, most of them pointing to some of these easiest ones for your first time, the ones that you need only plant and water regularly to eventually bloom. You on the other hand wanted to do something harder. So you chose roses due to both the challenge it takes into growing and maintaining them but also the fact that your farm had them in abundance, so it wouldn’t hit the business too hard if you failed.
But moreover, Mama had always called you her little Rosebud, so it only felt fitting to have these be the first flowers you grow all on your own. These blooms were rather picky about conditions, but you had been watching the women in your family grow them since before you could walk, and so you felt you were up to the task. You were only nine but you wanted to show the rest of them how good you could do on your own.
So you watched the seeds germinate, watched them grow into tiny sprouts in their small pots, planted them neatly apart, gave them plenty of sun, and never forgot to water them. Mama even caught you once or twice hovering over those little pots not wanting to miss a single moment of their growth.
She warned you to temper your expectations, how sometimes you can do everything right, and they still may not grow. But you were full of hope and wanted this more than you have ever wanted anything in your few years of life.
You had taken this seriously, hanging on to every tip you got from your Aunties, being sure to tend to them at the correct times, giving the correct amount of water and watching like a hawk for any unwanted pests. Each day you got the pleasure of watching them grow into buds and you figured they were close to blooming any day.
And that’s why you took great offense when you found a gangly tow-headed boy picking at the red roses you had worked so hard to grow.
He looked to be older than you by a few years, stood a foot taller than you, but you knew boys like him, the type that would stomp out dandelions to make you cry and you weren’t about to let him ruin your hard work with your first batch of rose bushes. You may be 9 but you’re scrappy as all get out, which you prove when you drop your basket of fresh cuttings of the day and all but tackle the larger boy into the dirt.
He gives an undignified shriek as he hits the ground, having been caught off guard, but he does attempt to shove you off until he goes a bit limp upon getting a good look at you. The brief scuffle ends with you straddling him and your little palms pinning his arms down as best as you could as owlish, cornflower blue eyes stared up at you in equal amounts of awe and fear.
“What’re you doin’ here?” you say your little voice indignant at what you thought were his attempts to sabotage your efforts. “Why were tryin’ to kill those roses?”
“I-I-I wa-wasn’t,” he insists, his cheeks burning from the shame of being caught doing whatever he was doing and his hands shaking something fierce as he limply tries to hide his face from you as you clench a tiny fist above you. You see that the briars got him good and little droplets of blood were beading up on some fine scratches on his hands.
If he was trying to wreck the bushes you doubt he would try to do so in such a stupid way, but that didn’t mean you trusted him quite yet. However you weren’t about to let him continue being hurt in your presence, so you stood up and grabbed the band-aids that were in your little kit, and helped clean him up.
“I-It-ts m-my mama’s birthday to-tomorrow, an-and I wanted to get her so-somethin’ nice this year,” he said after a while, solemnly looking at his bandaged hand.
You softened at his words, not having expected his answer, but you can hardly fault him for his reasoning. Afterall you don’t know where you or your mama would be if there weren’t thoughtful people that gave flowers to those they loved.
But you do know how much work it takes to grow them, and maintaining your irritation at his mucking about, you indignantly say “You coulda went to our shop and bought them.”
He goes an even deeper shade of red with your statement, “I-I know it’s wrong to steal, an-and I never woulda done this i-if I had the money to buy ‘em.”
It feels like all of the animosity you have towards him leaves your body at that moment. You and Mama have had your hard times before, and you are very much aware that each flower in your family’s field is worth something. It’s what keeps everyone fed, what keeps the lights on, and puts the clothes on your backs, but even knowing that you have one simple belief; everyone deserves nice flowers.
“Well,” you say to him as you stand up. “You picked the wrong color. You ain’t supposed to give red roses to your mama.”
“Really?”
“If you know anything about the language of flowers, you’d know that you’re only supposed to give ‘em to your wife or girlfriend.”
“...Flowers talk to each other?”
“No, they…” you pause trying to figure out a way to best explain yourself. “Their colors and the types are supposed to tell people how you feel about ‘em.” He draws his brows together, thoroughly confused as to what you’re saying, though that ain’t surprising. Mama often complained that when Men buy flowers, they never think too much beyond price, and boys rarely if ever appreciate them.
You decide that it may do him better, to see it rather than trying to explain it fully. So you take his bandaged hand and you walk him through some of the crops. From the outside, the fields look to be a chaotic mess of colors, when in reality there is a lot more thought put into it as your mother organizes by type rather than color. You are able to give him a run down as to rose color meanings, until you finally arrive at your intended destination.
He goes a little wide-eyed once you take out your gardening shears, but quickly relaxes once you go behind him to the bushel of pink roses. You’ve been cutting and dethorning roses for about a year or two now, so it takes not even a minute to find one in good condition, grab it, cut it, proceed to have it stripped of all its thorns, and casually present it to the blonde boy before you.
You thought he was red before, but as you presented him that rose, he turned redder than the rose he had attempted to pluck. His bandaged hand shakily takes the flower out of your hand, and with a reverence you’ve never seen from a boy when it comes to flowers, he holds it gently with both.
“Pink means gratitude and admiration.”
“What?” his lip still quivering slightly and eyes glassy.
“When you give someone a pink rose,” you explain to him, with a smile. “You’re letting them know that you’re grateful for all they’ve done for you and that you admire them very much for it. It’s the perfect flower to give to your Mama,” you say, giving him a small smile, the look he’s giving you making you feel warm inside.
“Rosebud?” you hear from behind you, and all the warm feelings seem to die in that instant.
“H-hi mama,” you say nervously, whipping around, standing on your toes, as though you’ll somehow be able to hide this trespasser's taller frame behind you. Though you realize how stupid that idea is and quickly take her hand, “Mama come look at my roses, I think they’re gonna bloom today,” you say, trying desperately to turn her around as though she’ll forget she ever saw that boy.
“In a minute Rosebud,” she said, her voice saccharine sweet, that you know by now means she’s mad. “But first, why don’tcha introduce me to your little friend here.”
“...yes Mama, this is… my friend…,” you go wide-eyed realizing you don’t even know this boy's name.
Luckily he picks up on your pause, “Hello, ma-ma’am, my name is uuhh… Elvis… Presley.”
Your mama slowly leans forward until she’s eye level with him, “Well, Elvis Presley,” she drawls slowly, her words friendly, yet the way they’re delivered tells you her feelings for this boy are anything but. “You mind tellin’ me why the hell you’re on my property, botherin’ my daughter, and plucking out my livelihood?”
Elvis looks down realizing that he was still holding the pink rose for all to see, and makes a futile attempt to hide it, only for his skinny wrist to be caught in your mothers iron like grip.
Mama had that way about her, her smile could be warm but her words icy. You’ve seen her like this with the few men that had come through here. Some trying to buy the land, some trying to find one of your Aunties, all of them leaving empty-handed because of her.
But you don’t believe that the boy before you, the one that wanted to get his mama something nice for her birthday, could ever be like those bad men. So you decided to do what needs to be done, “I invited him over Mama,” you say looking down at your muddy boots.
“Rosebud you ain’t gotta lie for him,” she admonishes, though she does seem to loosen her grip on him.
“Bu-but it’s the truth Mama. He’s been sayin’ how he needs a gift for his mama’s birthday, so I said he could come over here to get her a flower,” you mumble, knowing that this is something she always told you never to do.
She takes a long hard sigh before she fully releases Elvis, “You best get yourself home before it gets dark.” she says, her warning punctuated with a very cold breeze, despite it being well into April. He swallows nervously as he makes his way to the road, giving one last sorrowful glance your way before leaving.
“Rosebud,” your mama sighs, giving you a kiss on the forehead. “Sometimes you’re too sweet for your own good, and I don’t ever want to see someone take advantage of that.”
“Ok Mama.”
When he left that day you fully expected to never see him again, until he showed up the very next day wanting to show you his guitar.
After that, Elvis becomes a near constant presence at your farm. Your aunties thought he was nice enough, pinching his cheeks and plying him with snacks in exchange for having him sing for them. You don’t mind too much, as you don’t really have too many friends, and next to none that want to spend their evenings on your farm. You kind of enjoyed having him around, he would sometimes bring a guitar and sing to you, or read his comics to you. Other times he would follow you around as you did your chores and ask about the flowers.
You got used to him being around and even grew to enjoy it. One special day you even decided to share your most valued treasure with him: your favorite fruit in the whole world. One so good yet so expensive and rare in these parts that it’s limited to a once a year treat for you.
“An onion?” he asks skeptically.
“No,” you insist, slightly huffy that he’s not appreciating your most prized possession. “It’s called a Pomegranate,” you tell him, taking it out of his hands so that you could cut into it the way your Mama showed you. “I know when you first look at it, it doesn't look like much,” you say, as you cut at the crown. “But when you really look at it, you’ll find something truly amazing,” you conclude, and with a twist of your wrist you take the top off to reveal an abundance of the small jewel looking seeds, where you see him looking at it in nothing less than utter amazement.
That look in his eyes only grows when he actually tastes the little kernels for the first time, and he ravenously devours his half of the fruit, some of the juices overflowing out the corners of his mouth, and down his face.
You on the other hand savor each and every bite of it. You truly believe if perfection can be found, it would be in that late summer afternoon. The soft sunbeams creeping through from the shade and the perfume of the freshly cut flowers in your basket. The soft breeze that runs through your hair and causes the flowers in the fields to sway slightly as though they were dancing to the music flowing from your friends' beaten up guitar.
“What’d ya’ dream about doin’?” he would ask as he gazed up at the clouds overhead, idly strumming his guitar, his lips and fingertips stained red.
“What do you mean Elvis?” You would ask as you pick at the very last seeds on your rind.
“I-I mean wh-what’d ya wanna do when you grow up, Honeybee?,” he asks nervously, eyes firmly on the fields as though he were afraid of your answer. You roll your eyes slightly at his nickname for you, stemming from the time a bee landed on your hand and rather than swatting it away, you gently blew on it to get it to fly away. But you do decide to humor him anyway.
“Oh…This.”
“Really?” he asks, truly baffled at your answer. “You really don’t wanna go nowhere or-or do somethin’ else?”
“Why would I wanna do anything else?,” you ask in turn, confused at his confusion. “It’s like magic when really think ‘bout it,” you insist, showing him the last few kernels of the pomegranate you have in your hand. “Something so small can turn into something so beautiful.”
“You could plant ‘em anywhere, couldn’t you?” he insists.
You shrug your shoulders at that. “I guess.”
“But what if you couldn’t stay here,” he asks, his tone mournful, but you didn’t pick up on it at the time. “Wha-what if you had to go far away and y-you couldn’t come back?”
“Then I would make a new home,” you dismiss, offering him the last six seeds of your Pomegranate. He looks so surprised by the offer, his eyes a bit glassy before he furiously rubs them with the back of his hand and accepts your offer.
“Honeybee… co-could you meet me b-by your roses tomorrow,” he stutters. “I-i got something’ important to give ya’.”
“Ok.”
“Bu-but don’t tell your mama,” he says to you.
That may be a tall order, you thought at the time. Your mama on the other hand remains coolly indifferent to him, but you always got the sense that she didn’t like him for whatever reason. Nonetheless a promise is a promise.
Mama was probably at her happiest when he stopped coming around. When you learned he moved away, you were sad that your friend would leave without saying a proper goodbye, and you believed you would never see that dreamer boy again.
So imagine your surprise when a few years later an electric, new singer starts making waves across the south. He tried to steal flowers from your farm and now he steals hearts across the country.
Just about every girl in town, if given the chance, will brag how they had known him way back when, some of the more daring ones even claiming to have been his first kiss. As far as what you have heard Elvis may be the only man alive to have had 25 first kisses. The boys were no better, all claiming to have been his closest buddy growing up, and promising any girl that they could definitely meet back up with him if they chose.
Everyone is in an absolute tizzy for his return to Tupelo, you are simply trying to help your family through the rush of orders that has come in with the upcoming fair. Mostly it had been a headache because the new Miss Tupelo had demanded that her float be decorated with only white roses, as she didn’t think the standard red was flattering for her.
Which is fine until your shop is presented with a very special order from the mayor himself for an order of three dozen of your finest roses to be given to Tupelo’s favorite returning son for his homecoming concert.
Mama had initially treated it like any other order, until she saw who it was from.
“Absolutely not,” she said in her sternest voice, you hear from around the corner.
“Demi,” your Auntie Kate would admonish her. “Don’t be stupid ‘bout this. It’s been years and he was just a dumb kid back then.”
You don’t know what the mayor did to your Mama, but it had to have been bad, if he got her this worked up. Of course you’re not about to ask, as they had both pointedly left the room to discuss the matter while you were supposed to be minding the store. Instead you were very intently listening in to whether or not your mother was about to refuse an order for seemingly the first time in years.
“Kate, I ain’t takin’ any chances with this,” Mama declares. “You weren’t there, but if you’re ever gonna trust me on anything, let it be this.”
“Look Demi,” Kate sighs. “He’s willing to pay a ridiculous amount of money for them, and we need to offload some of the roses and it ain’t like he’s gonna-”
She’s interrupted by the bell signaling a customer having entered the shop. By the time you finish with him though, Mama has agreed, albeit reluctantly, to accept the order, under the condition the Kate be responsible for it in its totality
You don’t know what Kate had said to her but you’re glad nonetheless as she would claim once your mama was out of earshot that she was too busy to do this order so she asked if you would please be so kind as to take care of it for her.
Those weeks leading up to the fair, someone had asked Elvis if he was looking forward to reconnecting with anyone special back in Tupelo. As the reporter described it, the young star would look down bashfully at his feet, one side of his mouth curving upwards with only the slightest hint of red on his ears as he proclaimed yes to this humble reporter. “My sweetheart from way back in the day. I lost touch with her when I moved up to Memphis and I am praying every night that I find her this time around.”
If him simply coming back for a day to perform sent girls into a frenzy, the prospect of him coming back to find his supposed childhood love, just about turned everybody hysterical. Reporters from all over had flooded the town and had been skulking around trying to find this mysterious girl that had a hold on one of the biggest rising stars. Even once or twice coming into the shop and asking if you’ve received any calls from Memphis asking to send flowers to a specific girl in town.
Many girls were claiming to be the one Elvis is in fact looking for, recounting their memories of a sweet boy who only had eyes for them. They all followed the same general beats of being in the same class, he was embarrassingly smitten with them, and they rejected him. You had been in different grades and didn’t really know him outside of when he would visit your farm seemingly everyday, so you could hardly attest as to whether or not any of this was true. You do however remember him cryptically referring to one specific girl that had his heart, though in not so many words.
In the days leading up to the last time you would see him, he became very interested in the flowers for romance. He didn’t say that he was planning to do so, but you could tell he was gearing up to declare his love for that girl he never named. Your first suggestion is, of course, whatever her favorite flower is.
He would blanche a bit at that, “She-she loves em all,” he would mumble looking away bashfully and facing the vibrantly colored fields. According to your mama this is man's speak for “I don’t know.” With few exceptions, nobody is without a favorite, and you sigh slightly disappointed in him that he’s apparently ready to declare undying affection for a girl and he didn’t even know that basic but important information about the girl. But you did promise him your help so you gave him some suggestions: Lilacs for new love, Gardenias for secret love, Carnations for deep love, Tulips for perfect love, Forget-Me-Nots for true love, and of course Red Roses for passionate love.
On that day you would find him nervously pacing in front of your first batch of roses. They were now in full bloom and you sadly recognized that you’re going to have to cut them soon. You know that’s the beast of this business, that in order to bring new life in, the old must make way, but it’s only a cold comfort and you hope that whoever they end up with will appreciate their beauty.
He practically stared you down as you walked down the row between rose bushes, but he seems to be shaking as though his knees were liable to give out at any moment, and the closer you got to him, you saw that his chest was practically heaving. You can see as he holds something behind his back and you blatantly try to look to see what it is, only to be stopped as he places one hand on your shoulder.
“What’d you wanna talk about Elvis?” you ask him, slightly worried he may be having a heat stroke.
He swallows thickly before he finally answers you, “M-my folks and I are gonna be goin’ up North,” his eyes downcast as though he were ashamed to admit this, one hand still hidden behind his back.
“Oh, when are you coming back?” you say oblivious to his grief.
He’s taken by surprise at your question, but he does answer with a simple “I don’t know.” But with that he squares his shoulders and through trembling lips he stutters, “Honeybee… I-I-I want ya’ to c-come wi-with us.”
“Ok.” you say, completely ignorant as to the true meaning of his words.
“Really?” his face breaking into the biggest smile you’ve ever seen in your life.
“Yeah,” you say simply. You remember vividly that you were going to say something to the effect of needing to be back home before dinner because Auntie Erin was gonna be making her famous Golden Apple Pie, when you all of a sudden felt your lips being occupied.
You laugh at your reaction to a simple kiss on the lips now, but at the time, it had felt like the end of the world to you. After all, you were so sure that this was how babies were made.
When you had asked where babies came from, Mama nervously answered you with this story: Your Daddy kissed your mama out in front of the red roses, and their love would cause a new bud to bloom where they would find you sleeping in a rosebud.
Back then you didn’t know any better, all you did know was that you didn’t want to take care of a baby right now. You wanted to grow Azaleas next, and Mama warned you that that would be a big commitment to make. And Elvis was going to be moving away, so who was going to take care of the baby?
You were confused and frustrated beyond anything you’ve experienced up to that point, and you did what any overwhelmed 9 year old would do.
You started bawling your eyes out, pushed him down, and ran back home.
Mama would later comfort you and reassure you no baby was on it’s way. She corrected her story and told you that in fact, the couple must be married in order for a baby to be made. (She never did go into further detail as to the process, so you assumed that was the only necessary detail)
The next day, you had felt bad and wanted to apologize to Elvis for the confusion and for pushing him down yet again. You even had a sprig of Lily of the Valley ready as a peace offering and everything, but you wouldn’t see him the next day. Nor the day after that.
You wouldn’t hear about him until about a couple months back when you had been dethorning the roses while listening to the radio. You vividly remember the surprise that came over you the moment the DJ announced the artist behind the song. How could you not? Afterall it marks the first time in years that a rose had been able to draw blood from you, because in your surprise, hearing the name of a ghost from your past, your ungloved fingers met with a thorn perfectly.
There was no doubt in your mind that it was him not just for the very distinct name, but for that song specifically. You remember him singing it while you were in the fields, saying he had heard it from Big Boy Crudup himself.
For maybe half a second you entertain the thought that you may be the mystery sweetheart of his, but just as quickly you dismiss it as the way he describes it as being a long lost love tragically torn apart by fate. You on the other hand pushed him down and cried your eyes out when he kissed you once before never seeing him again, hardly the type of romance worth reading about.
And like a blink of an eye the fair day arrived.
You had been expressly forbidden from going to the fair, your mother giving no real reason beyond “because I said so.” This in turn makes you feel less guilty about your little scheme, as she did not forbid you from choosing that day to be the day you work in the shop.
Men are funny creatures, you realize as you work on the order the morning of. Whoever put in the order made sure to specify that the roses must be fresh yet somehow neglected to mention the preferred color.
You opted for red ones in the end as you have those in abundance and you figure they probably wouldn’t look too closely into the meaning beyond it being the classic rose color. But you do slip in a pink rose in the mix, remembering the first flower you had ever given him.
It’s a big order to fill, which you only realize once you're carrying a comically large bouquet into the backstage area of the fairgrounds. It was a bit of a hassle making it there in the first place as evidently you’re not the first young woman insisting you’re allowed to be backstage. Though none of them had the mayor himself vouching for the order and letting you in.
He was already walking up on to the stage by the time you get there, and all you really see of him is the back of his head. Without knowing what you did, you would be hard-pressed to find any similarities between the man on stage and the boy who had to sing facing away from you lest he get too anxious.
But when he was presented with the key to the city, did you finally see hints of that boy from your memories. The way he kept shifting nervously from foot to foot, how he kept stuffing his hands in his pockets only to take them out, his eyes flickering back and forth between the crowd and the mayor. All of it reminding you of the endearing, stuttering boy who nervously asked you what each flower in your field meant.
You don’t think you’ve ever seen someone move like that before, so jerky and sudden, but also so very fluid when he wanted to be. Oddly enough you’re reminded of snake charming, with that vicarious thrill of watching something that looks so dangerous, but you also can’t look away from. But that begs the question: is he the snake or is he the charmer?
It’s hard to say, especially when he shifted gears to slower, less rowdy songs.
And then one day
I had my love as perfect as could be
She lived, she loved, she laughed, she cried
And it was all for me
There was a bit of a tremble in his voice as he crooned those words out to the crowd, as though he were close to tears himself. It’s here you think you truly find that boy that used to bug you when you were out in the fields.
It felt like all too soon the concert was over and he was stepping behind the stage. What feels like half a million eyes are focused on him as he steps off the stage to where he was met with just as many cameras and questions thrown his way. You almost feel bad for him, that he wasn’t even given a chance to breathe between one stage to another.
His eyes scanned the crowd that gathered around him, but eventually his eyes would settle on the ridiculously large bouquet right next to you. It’s hard to miss, you think, looking at it, but when you look back at him you find that his eyes are firmly set on you and you feel your heart skip a beat.
He’s probably trying to figure out where he knows you from, you figure. It’s been years, you yourself had long ago forgotten about him, but hearing his name on the radio for the first time dredged up all of those memories.
You can hardly blame him though the both of you have changed a lot in the almost ten years since you’d last seen each other and he doesn’t have the benefit of a famous name or your face on TV to jog his memory.
Even still some part of yourself wishes he does remember and you walk towards him with more a skip in your step than ever. But you find your path thwarted by an unwelcome familiar face.
Mindy, whom you’ve known since grade school, when her and her Mama lived on the farm with you until her mama married a new man. You used to be the best of friends but when she moved out she seemed to want to distance herself from you and did so by criticizing everything you did.
Most people would be hard-pressed to name anything she does like, but ask her about the things she hates and she can go on for hours. And of all the things she hates, you think you rank somewhere near the top, given how much she used to talk about you to anyone who would listen. Everything about you was apparently a personal offense to her, with her latest insult being that you apparently had a bunch of cats on your farm, hence your latest and most confusing nickname of “the Cathouse girl.” Though by far her most egregious thing she's ever said was that one day you were going to suffocate from your Mama’s apron strings, and it felt all the worse that you couldn’t even go to her about it lest you prove her point.
She now proudly wears her Miss Tupelo sash over seafoam green dress as she attempts to lift the bouquet out of your hands with a cloyingly sweet, “I’ll take that off your hands hon.”
You move to protest this, but apparently your day has just gone from bad to worse, as you feel a familiar iron-like grip on your arm. “Rosebud, it’s time for us to leave.” You don’t need to turn around to know who it is.
“But Mama-”
“Yeah Y/N, thought all you did was listen to your Mama,” Mindy interrupts you as she finally wrenches the bouquet out of your hands.
“It’s time to go home, Y/N,” your mother says severely, her grip on your elbow unyielding. Your cheeks burn with humiliation, having never felt so small under your mothers gaze, but you don’t argue with her and allow yourself to be pulled away, lest a bigger scene be caused.
Mindy, idly pops her spearmint gum with the most triumphant of smiles, sparing you a simple dismissive twiddle of her fingers before spinning around to present your hard work to your old friend. If there’s one thing you can be glad about in that moment, is that exactly zero other eyes were on you as you conceded to your mother like a scolded child and let her lead you out of the fairgrounds.
Little did you realize at the time, someone was watching.
You get into the truck and sit your fists clenching in anger on your knees, ashamed at what transpired just now.
“Rosebud…” she starts, and you petulantly turn your entire body to face the window with your back to her. “Honey I know you think I go overboard with these things, but you gotta trust your mama here when I say that it’s all for your own good.”
Your nails dig into the meat of your palms, so hard you worry it may draw blood, but a part of you welcomes that. Maybe then she will understand how upset you are with her. She still treats you like a child after all these years, protecting you from some nebulous threat that is both ever present yet somehow not important enough to give a name.
You feel suffocated, unable to defend yourself from insults that you aren’t allowed to fully understand.
These feelings would only double when you would see the next day's newspaper, where an enlarged picture of Elvis and Mindy on the ferris wheel would take up most of the front page. Well there’s your answer as to who this mystery girl is, you think bitterly.
Sweethearts reunited at last, the headline reads.
Though all your anger and fury would end up manifesting into nothing when the real world decided to remind you what was important in life. About a week after the fair, your home would receive a late night visit from the sheriff informing you of tragedy.
It didn’t feel real seeing what was once a colorful store teeming with life and love to now be reduced to a smoldering, skeletal pile of ash. You had been there not even a day ago and now it was gone. The police don’t suspect foul play but they weren’t ruling it out, and as you would learn, the little insurance mama did have on the shop didn’t cover fires unless it could be proven beyond a doubt that it was accidental. So suffice it to say, your family is on its own in terms of getting the store back up and running.
Typically late fall is for drying out maybe a quarter of the left over supply of flowers, storing the rest into the cold storage below the shop, winterizing the bushels for the next season, and shifting focus to seeding and growing the more popular flowers in the greenhouses, but the fire had thrown the ultimate wrench into the plans. A good chunk of the cut flowers had been kept on display at the front of the shop or beneath it in cold storage, and so with them went much of the value in the business.
Your mama is stressed beyond anything you’ve ever seen, but what makes it worse is that she refuses to burden you with the knowledge of your financial situation. Which in turn stresses you out even more about the financial situation she didn’t want you to know about.
About a month after the fire Mama had gone to the bank in an effort to get a business loan so that she could rent a new place, while the others were in town trying to strike up partnerships with other stores on the same street and convince them to buy and sell your flowers. It wasn’t the greatest of plans but it was the only one you were left with so that you may hobble through this year into the next.
They could sell the flowers off to shops in nearby towns, but even selling the rest of the supply wholesale will hardly breakeven for this year leaving you with nothing saved come next season. And even then that’s only if everybody refuses payment for the work they did, which they did offer, but your Mama was having none of it.
Even setting up a stand on your property and selling from there wasn’t an option, as you’re located way too far out from town too hope for those driving by to stop and buy flowers off of you.
You find yourself on one of the rare days in which you’re home alone, as you sit on the porch gazing out at the fields nearly devoid of all flora now. If your mother can’t convince the bank for a loan then all that your family has ever grown will rot, the land sold, and the strange tribe of women that had been collected under this roof would be left adrift. Beauty will give way over to necessity, as these bankers are under the false assumption that people don’t need flowers.
But how can you begrudge the necessity of food at a time like this when your kitchen is looking pathetically sparse these days. You wouldn’t mind too much if you didn’t know that it was a prelude to no food at all.
It didn’t feel right that this would be the end of the farm, your Nana Gail took the dusty lands her deadbeat of a husband left her with and turned it into something beautiful. She passed it on to your Mama, a relative stranger she took in the both of you when your daddy was sent away to die an ocean away.
The farm had survived two world wars and yet it would be a fire that would cause all that the women of your family had built to crumble.
You shake your head furiously at the thought. Don’t let these bad thoughts get to you, you think to yourself. You're truly afraid of where these thoughts may lead you if you let them fester so instead you decide that the kitchen would benefit from some cheery flowers to brighten up the place.
The house is in desperate need of that these days.
But as you were in the dirt to pick Daffodils, you realize you weren’t as alone as you thought, as in the distance you see some dust being kicked up. Your heart jumps for joy thinking that it was your mother, bearing good news, until you get to the dirt road and the unfamiliar black car drives past you.
Making your way home you can see a tall figure step out of the shiny car, dressed all in black. As they turn to look at the house, they strike an unsettlingly familiar silhouette but it still takes you a second to recognize him, even if it was not even a month ago when you saw him last.
Maybe it’s because, in your head, he’s still that gangly tow-headed boy, not this tall dark man in black that stands before you.
“Elvis?”
A devastating grin spreads across his face as he spreads his arms out in a clear invitation for a hug. “Been a long time, Honeybee.”
You don’t know the etiquette as to how to greet someone you haven’t talked to in years, but also whom you’ve seen in passing a few days ago. But you graciously accept the hug and kiss on the cheek he gives you, so you in turn invite him into your home, unsure what else to do in the face of his casual familiarity.
“Hope you don’t mind,” he says, grabbing a basket from the back seat. “But I brought you a lil’ gift.” Your eyes widen and your mouth instantly starts to water at the plentiful bounty within, as no less than a dozen Pomegranates filled that ornate basket. The fact that he brought such a thing, seemingly on a whim, spoke volumes as to how well the music business was treating him more than any sparkling jewel or shiny car could.
“Can I offer you some water or…” you trail off as you put the daffodils in a vase, hoping he accepts, and you won’t have to suffer the embarrassment of having so little to offer such a man.
“If you could be a doll actually,” he says, plucking one of the sweet fruits. “Why don’tcha pop one a these open for old times sake.” You’re silently grateful he asked as you doubt it would have been too long before your empty stomach was demanding for one. “I still remember when you gave me one for the first time.” he idly remarks as you start to cut into it.
You smile at that shared memory between the two of you, though a sorrowful ache settles in your stomach as those days seem so far away now. You gather a few errant seeds from the cutting board and you can’t help the small moan that comes from you, as you had resigned yourself to the fact that you wouldn’t be having any this year.
With the plate in hand you turn around to find your guest frozen in his sweet, before quickly gathering himself as you approach.
“So what brings you back to these ol’ parts,” you ask, placing the plate between you two.
He pops a few seeds off of the ridge, and into his mouth, “Well I came back here because a certain someone left my show before I could even say hello to her.”
You look down slightly embarrassed but a little ecstatic that he realized your absence, “Sorry ‘bout that, we get super busy around this time and couldn’t stick around too long.”
“I get it,” he answers amiably. “It looked like you and your mama had somewhere to be.”
You cringe and look down humiliated that, of all the things he could’ve seen that day, he saw perhaps the most embarrassing moment of your life. You look back and see an expression you can’t quite read on his face as you quickly recover and ask him how the star's life is treating him.
He regales you with all that he’s done the past few years since the music thing took off, and how he’s looking forward to the movies he’s gonna make. He even tells you how he’s just about to finish filming his first one pretty soon, and head back to Hollywood in a week.
The irony that you sit across from him, his dreams once so lofty and out of reach now coming true whereas your simple one seems to slip through your fingers is not lost on you. You have to actively force yourself to be happy for him at this moment, as he’s hardly to blame for your recent misfortunes.
“How are you and Mindy doing?” you ask, after a while.
“Who?”
That really shouldn’t make you as happy as it did.
“You know your old Sweetheart and all that,” you tease lightly.
“Oh… her…” he says, unable to hide the bit of a grimace on his face. “She was… nice?”
“You don’t gotta lie,” you say, laughing a bit at the thought
“She was nice to me,” he elaborates, shrugging his shoulders a bit, before giving a pointed look at you. “She had a lot to say ‘boutchu though.”
“I can imagine.” you say, plucking a few seeds. “Guess childhood sweethearts ain’t all they cracked up to be.”
“Wouldn’t know,” he says. “But enough a all that, how ‘boutchu, Honeybee? Whatcha been up to all these years?”
“Oh you know, ain’t nothin’ ever changes down in Tupelo,” you dismiss, hoping to dodge his question. “Still growing flowers, still selling them,” you say, willing your smile to be more cheerful than strictly necessary.
“Y’know,” he broaches lightly, his fingers awkwardly rapping against the grainy wood of the table. “I actually did stop by the shop before I got here…” he trails off, a solemn air falling over the both of you.
“Oh.”
“Listen, darlin’,” he says, taking his hand in yours. “If you need anythin’ tell me how I can help,” he pleads softly.
“Yo-you don’t gotta be worried ‘bout us, we-we’re gonna be fine,” you stutter, attempting to parrot your Mama’s own words back to him, hoping you’re at least somewhat convincing. He takes your hand in his and soothingly rubs his thumb along the back of your hand.
“Sweetheart if you folks need some money to tide y‘all over for a bit, I’d be happy t-”
“No,” you cut him off. “I can’t accept your money for nothing,” you declare.
“I understand Honeybee,” he says, looking out the window. “But I just moved to a new place up in Memphis. It’s nice but kinda… bare on the outside, and I’ve been in the market for someone to fix that.” he says his steely blue gaze fixed on you. “And then I thought who better than the girl who could grow anythin’?”
You’re genuinely flattered at the compliment, but you can’t help but feel this is simply more of his pity and you let him know as much.
“Sweetheart, I was gonna offer you the job even before I saw your shop,” he says genuinely. “It don’t gotta be forever, just work a couple months up in Graceland, makin’ sure everything set up come spring, then you’ll be home.”
“Graceland?”
“It’s what the old owners called it anyway,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s a house right now, but it ain’t no home.” he looks solemn in his words until his eyes trail to you and you can see in real time as his whole demeanor brightens. “I think you could help fix that darlin’,” he states, his smile making it hard to focus on much else.
There is a bit of a pause, and you stupidly realize he’s waiting for an answer from you. But from the almost imperceptible drop in his grin at your hesitation, you doubt it’s the one he’s looking for. “I-I’m flattered but… I-I can’t just leave right now.” you stutter, feeling guilty that he’s now upset with you, and you feel the need to further justify your stance. “My family needs me right now.”
“And this is how you can help ‘em right now,” he argues, reaching into his back pocket. “I can even pay ya’ half upfront now.”
“Elvis, I don’t think that’ll be eno–” you’re cut off by him suddenly slapping what looks to be six hundred dollars on the table before casually going back to picking off the ruby colored seeds. He smiles a bit at the gobsmacked expression on your face, but how could you not be?
Renting out a new space downtown for a few months wouldn’t even cost a quarter of this with the rest being able to go toward everything else. It’s almost funny that previously you never even thought about money, but now it feels like that’s all you think about these days.
“This-this is just for six months of work?”
“Three actually,” he corrects. “The rest you’ll get paid in the Spring.”
You feel your heart thunder within your chest with his words. This would be more than enough money to get your family through the year. But you don’t know if you could do it. Not the gardening part obviously more the being so far away from your family part.
“Can I have some time to think about it?” you question, hoping that maybe the rest will be able to better convince you to go for it or someone else could take the offer.
“Sweetheart I gotta get back to Memphis real soon,” he warns, a lot cooler than before. “So I’m gonna need an answer right now.” You swallow nervously at the intensity of his gaze on you, feeling an uncomfortable feeling settling in your belly, the prospect of leaving home, making you queasy.
“Elvis I-I-I don’t know,” you stutter, your palms clammy as you hold the hem of your skirt with shaky hands, feeling as though the world is somehow closing in on you.
“Well I guess that’s that then,” he says with an air of finality, that only further turns your stomach.
This man is offering a solution to all your current woes and yet you hesitate? You balk at the idea of a couple months of doing the same work you would’ve been doing here? And for what exactly?
You know you should discuss this with your Mama, but you already know what her answer is going to be. It’s the same one she has been giving these last few weeks when you had asked about getting a job to better support the house.
Your daddy never came back from the war so she promised to love you twice as fiercely, for the both of them. She had always done her best to feed you, clothe you, protect you. It’s no secret that everything this farm started from you when she had to support the both of you on her own. And you know for a fact if it was her being offered the job she wouldn’t have even blinked to take it. But you’re about to let that all slip through your fingers because you’re too much of a coward to do what needs to be done.
But even with all that in mind, it’s not your mind that ultimately makes the decision so much as your stomach, as it rumbles yet again as you look upon the basket he left behind overflowing with one of the most expensive fruits you know, a mere taste as to what he can so casually provide you.
You catch him just as he’s about to step out the door, but before you can officially say yes you have one question left for him. “Can you promise me I’ll be home come Spring?”
“Darlin’ I can promise you right now, come Spring we’ll both have exactly what we want.” which is a big promise for anyone to make, but you are looking at the boy who had gone from being only able to sing in front of a single person in an empty field to someone who is now selling out shows to hundreds. There is an odd sense that if anybody can manifest the near impossible it would be him.
It takes you only an hour to pack what you think you’ll need for these coming months, as well as write a barebones note explaining to your Mama that no you’re not being kidnapped and that you’ll be gone to raise money to save the farm. You don’t say where you’ll be but you do promise that you will write as often as you can and that you’ll be home come springtime. You quickly stuff the note and the money into the envelope, and leave it right on top of the basket.
But before you can make it out the front door, you're presented with a bright cheerful looking daffodil, plucked straight from the vase you had put it in. “For new beginnings,” he says with a soft smile.
“How’d you know that?” you asked surprised that he remembered after all this time, but taking a hold of it anyway.
“Hell, all the time I spent down here,” he said, throwing an arm over your shoulder. “Somethin’ was bound to stick.”
And just like that you’re off.
You refuse to look forlornly out at the fields you’re leaving behind, trying to remind yourself that it’s not as though you’ll be gone forever. You’ll be back before you know it, you think, trying to convince yourself, and it’s Elvis’ hand in yours that gives you some small comfort in this incredibly trying time, even as his eyes are firmly set forward.
Though it’s as you get to the state border do you realize that this will mark the first time you’ve been so far from home ever, and you let Elvis know as much.
“There’s gonna be a lotta firsts when you stick with me darlin’,” he says, giving a tender kiss to the back of your hand.
Graceland on the outside is beautiful but… sterile, if you had to take a guess. There were trees with leaves starting to brown for the autumn, the shrubbery was perfectly manicured, and the grass was well maintained but it was utterly devoid of color save for the cars in the driveway.
But then again this is what you’re here to rectify, so you try to be an optimist about it, and try to view it as a blank canvas so to speak. What the property lacked in the moment was warmth and you suppose now it’s your job to bring it.
That first month was all devoted to building the greenhouse necessary to start the entire process. You prefer to start with the seeds rather than skipping straight to the bulbs, so a place where you can better help them grow is ideal. Elvis is all too willing to indulge this and he puts in the order for one but all too soon he has to leave to go and finish his movie.
As much as you knew Elvis, it felt odd being in a house with the owner gone. And while Graceland was far from empty, there is still that unsettling sensation of being there that you can’t quite shake.
Of course not used to being so idle even during the winter, you start to take on other duties around the household. You quickly endear yourself to Miss Gladys with your willingness to take on the chores of the house and she goes out of her way to make you feel welcome.
You like her, she’s the only one who feels as uncomfortable at the opulence as you did. In a lot of ways she reminds you of your own mother with the way she frets over her absent son. This strikes a particularly guilty chord within you, because unlike your Mama, Gladys has the benefit of knowing where her child was at the moment.
“Where ya from sweetheart?” she asks you idly one day as you’re helping her make breakfast early one morning.
“Tupelo,” you say while you beat the eggs.
“Oh do I know your Mama?”
“Probably,” you answer. “She ran the flower shop back there.”
Gladys pauses at that. You can’t see her face but you do hear the hesitation in her voice as she whispers “... Demi?”
“Yeah that’s my mama… you know her?” you ask a little confused at this point, and you wonder if there is some history there.
There is an uncomfortably long pause before she says a simple, “Yeah I think I remember her…” The rest of the morning is filled with an awkward silence as you try to figure out what could have possibly happened there.
That night, before you enter the room to talk to Elvis over the phone, you overhear the tail end of the conversation between him and his Mama. You hear her whisper in a low tone, “I hope you know what you’re doin’ Bewbie.”
Whatever awkwardness that had arisen because of her question disappears soon after that. Gladys happily takes you under her wing once more, bringing you further into the fold of the Presleys and all the dynamics that come with it. She has even begun to refer to you as the daughter she never had which, while you understand is meant to make you feel welcome here, it in fact eats at you considering the state of the relationship between you and your real Mama.
It’s times like these that you truly hate that your family doesn’t have a telephone. You want more than anything to hear her voice, but you know yourself well enough to know that if you were to even visit now you wouldn’t want to ever leave again.
You write to her pretty much every day. Like clockwork for the first month you write to her telling her about your day the same way you usually would, asking her for advice on some flowers, anything really that comes to mind. You had a lot of time that first month while you were helping with planning and building the greenhouse, so everyday you would sift through the hoard of mail to find one bearing your home address.
But it never comes.
That doesn’t stop you from continuing to write to her everyday, handing off the letter to Jerry, and eagerly awaiting her reply.
Elvis is very understanding over the fact that it’s a marathon and not a sprint to make the garden he wanted and every time he’s back home he’s just as eager to see your progress with the seeds as you are to show him. Once you even tried to apologize to him feeling guilty that it’s taking so long to perfect that image of Graceland he had.
“Sweetheart you bein’ there, takin’ care a everythin’ makes it feel all the more like a proper home,” he insists over the phone. “And I can’t wait to get back and see it all.”
This guilt eases once the greenhouse is finished and you can finally get to work with the flowers you’ve planned. Elvis quote “trusted your vision” and wanted you to choose whatever you thought worked best, but he did specify which flowers he absolutely wanted on the property: Lilacs, Gardenias, Carnations, Tulips, Forget-Me-Nots, and Roses.
“I’m a bit of a romantic, I guess,” he said shyly rubbing the back of his neck. You don’t mind too much, as him knowing what he wants by far makes him the easiest man you’ve ever worked with.
Elvis had left you with the understanding that the boys he left behind would be at your beck and call and that should you need anything, not to be afraid to send them to get it. Pots and other such tools were easy enough to send for, but when it came down to other fine details such as soil and seeds, you trusted no one but yourself to find what you need, and so you instead ask if one of them could take you into town to find what you need.
“I cAN-” Jerry, one of the younger ones offered, blushing furiously at his overeagerness that caused his voice to crack slightly. “I mean I can take you,” he says, far more composed this time around. The other men protest, saying he’s too young and that he only just got his license, and ‘don’tchu want a real man drivin’ around sweetheart?’
It was those last comments that really solidified your decision to have it be him, as there was something about Jerry, (16, Lanky, and with a voice still cracking from puberty) that put your mind at ease over all these other grown men, in a way you can’t exactly place.
You stopped going to school when you were around 15 and outside of brief exchanges with the men that used to come into your shop, you haven’t really had much interaction with menfolk in the past 3 years. So that’s where you believe your unease stems from, having been surrounded by mostly women your entire life, being around so many men now is a bit of a shock to your system.
He leads you to his shiny new car, a gift from Elvis for some unspecified favor he did for him, and just like that you’re off. The drive into town is mostly quiet save for Jerry nervously pointing out to you his favorite places in Memphis. You're happy to get out of Graceland, even for a little bit, as you rarely if ever got to explore Tupelo, so being somewhere entirely new was exciting, but at the end of the day there is really only one place you wished to be, the local nursery.
You quickly locate the specific tools you’re going to need and find the best soil for the flowers, and you’re finally able to do what you most wanted. You’re almost like a kid in a candy store as you eagerly look through the varieties of seeds available within the store. As much as you want to take them all you have to be realistic as to not only what would look good, but as to what could be grown on the property to have it looking good year round.
“So err…uhhh… Wh-what’s your favorite flower?” he asks shyly, as you're perusing the various seed packets to be had.
“All of them,” you say without hesitation, not even looking up from the task.
“Really all of ‘em?”
“I’m serious, asking me what my favorite flower is, it’s like asking a mother who her favorite child is,” you say fondly, rubbing your thumb lightly on the little packets that will eventually become the flowers you so love.
He laughs at that, “Why do ya’ love ‘em so much?”
“Well when you grow up on a flower farm, you ain’t got much of a choice,” you quip.
“A flower farm?”
“Yeah,” you clarify. “My Mama and I grew and sold flowers in our shop back in Tupelo.”
“...Yo-you had a flower shop back in Tupelo?” he stutters.
“Yeah,” you say solemnly, this conversation dredging up some very bittersweet memories. “Why dontcha go ring up everything while I finish up over here,” you say.
It's October already, you think to yourself, they probably started cutting down the sunflowers by now. You know that you’re doing more for them here making money and sending it back to them than you would have being an extra set of idle hands back home, still that does little to quell that uneasy feeling being so far from home now.
You’d kept up the writing and have recently let her know how lonely you’ve been feeling here, part venting, part as a means of getting her to write to you back for the first time.
It didn’t work and that sours your mood for the rest of the outing.
The ride back to Graceland is far quieter this time around, and Henry seems to avoid you after that, but you hardly notice as now that you have everything you need, you can really focus all your energy in doing what you came here to do. This is what you’re undoubtedly good at and now that you’re back at it, you don’t want anything to distract you from doing your job and getting back home as soon as possible.
A few days later, as you were finishing up in the greenhouse you would find Jerry sitting next to someone, back ramrod straight as a familiar figure had an arm casually slung over his shoulder. Jerry leaves before you can figure out what that’s all about, so you instead greet the not-so-stranger before you.
“You’re early,” you casually remark to him.
“I missed ya’,” he drawls, a light smirk on his lips that causes a pleasant warmth to radiate from your chest. But his face takes on a more sobering look as he looks at you, purses his lips, and pats the no occupied seat, which you worriedly take. “Actually, I was just ‘bouta go lookin’ for ya’,” he says, before letting out a pensive sigh. “Jerry actually needs a place to stay for a week or two, and I invited him here.”
“Oh that’s nice of you,” you say.
A small bashful smile cracks his somber expression, before the intensity returns and he informs you that yours was the room he offered him.
“I don’t mind sleeping on the couch,” you insist, scared that you may be about to be sent home without the rest of the money to show for it.
“Don’tchu worry ‘bout that,” he said, chucking your chin up to look at him. “I just figured that my bed should be big ‘nough for the both of us.”
His words catch you off guard, and you feel your face burning unsure as to how to respond. He sees your hesitation and backs off slightly before continuing. “Course if you don’t feel too comfortable sharin’ with me I can always putcha up somewhere else,” he starts and you’re about to jump on that offer until he continues. “Though, we might need to take that outta your pay,” he says, and you shrink a bit at the reality of the situation. “Not to mention havin’ to getchu back and forth day in and out,” he continues, rambling on and on about the logistics of the prospect.
“No-no,” you cut in. “I-if you’re really okay with it… then I-I don’t mind.” you say slightly defeated though if he notices he doesn’t say anything about it.
A full grin cracks his face, “Perfect we’ll go move your things right now,” he says as he takes your hand in his leading you up to where your room was.
“...ok…” you said, accepting his offer in a small voice. Though it’s hardly an offer as that would imply you had a choice in the matter.
The next week you want to kick yourself over being so nervous over nothing, as he proves himself to be nothing less than a gentleman all things considered. Yes he does get a bit clingy when he’s asleep and he all but refuses to let you out of the bed when you wake up before him. But in all honesty you welcome it very much.
It helps ease that lonely feeling somewhat as being held by him takes away some of your worry about not belonging here. Everybody seems to give you a wide berth and it was a definite shock to your system considering where you come from, being essentially the baby on the farm you were freely plied with all forms of physical affection your whole life. But you do take comfort in him, even if it is only limited to the night time.
Though when that week is up you idly ask him when you can move your things back into your old room, to which he only responds by wrapping an arm over your shoulders and saying, “Now why would I want my Honeybee so far away from me.”
You’re too shocked at the statement to even think of countering him at the moment, but even when the statement does truly settle for you, you aren’t entirely opposed to it. As it makes you feel far more secure here knowing that he wants you here so much. It’s odd how final it feels in spite of how small the moment was. You’re not just Honeybee anymore, you're His Honeybee, and that’s that.
That’s one of the first things you learned living in Graceland, is that whatever Elvis says, goes. Everybody seems to bend over backwards to his wishes here, and at first it was a little funny if a little perturbing, as you justified to yourself that you were his friend and therefore he wouldn’t put any crazy demands on you even if he was technically your boss.
But it’s only in that moment that you truly realize that you were no exception to that rule. And why would you be? Considering he is the one that is the one supporting not only you but by extension your entire family back home, how can you do anything but agree to his demands?
But that may be being a bit too harsh, as being his girl is certainly not an unpleasant phenomena. He seemed to become bolder with your amiable acceptance to your new found title of becoming his. In short order all of the clothes you brought from home disappeared and were replaced with much finer ones, and he becomes the most frequent visitor in the greenhouse.
Whenever he is around is almost constantly touching you and bringing you close to him at any given moment. And these weren’t exactly touches you were familiar with; Brushing his fingers along your neck to fix your necklace, hand on your lower back to steer you a certain way, rubbing your knee beneath the table (sometimes above your clothes, sometimes not) etc. All new and exciting, in their own ways.
Everytime you see him it feels akin to something blooming within your chest. You think this is why there were so many flowers meant to express love, because that feeling he gives you is hard to put into words.
It was only inevitable that the kisses would come along eventually. First beginning as friendly ones on the cheek before bed, then graduating to something far more… carnal. Almost like he was trying to consume you, and these kisses always left you panting and in a state of shock from the ferocity he displayed only to end it with a very sweet kiss to your cheek and tucking the both of you into bed.
You’re not gonna lie and say you don’t enjoy the kissing but it does give you a good scare when he begins to touch you in other places that are not-so-innocent places as he kisses you: His hand on your bottom when wants to press your body closer to his, the continual rubbing between your inner thighs, his thumb circling the taut peak of your breast.
Though admittedly his new touches were a bit on the scarier side for you, you don’t fight it, and in fact get bolder yourself by taking a page out of his book and giving as good as you got. He seems to relish the reaction he can pull from you, which is intimidating as much as it is titillating.
But these feelings have also been manifesting in some strange ways physically, like you seem to breathe harder when he’s around, and seeing him bite his lip makes your mouth go dry. But this all pales in comparison to the sensation of him rubbing a hand on your inner thigh, and it feels like you go dry everywhere, save for one place. As exciting as it is, it’s confusing all the same, and you above all else wish you could confide in anyone with how you were feeling.
Typically you could freely talk about any lady troubles you may have with your Mama but her inability/unwillingness to talk to you now leaves you to navigate this maze alone. You consider asking Miss Gladys or even Dodger for their thoughts, but the fact that it’s Elvis that awakens these feelings within you, makes going to them seem inappropriate for some reason. But ultimately that only leaves you with one person to go to about your problem despite them also being the cause of it.
Which is how you find yourself sitting on your knees in his bed with a shaky breath telling him how his touches are stirring something in you that you don’t understand.
“Where?” he asks, seemingly innocent but the way he bites his cheek, tells you he’s trying to hold back a laugh at your discomfort. “Here” he says, placing a hand on your lower belly, and while it clenches from the sudden contact, you shake your head no.
“Here?” He asks with a small smile, cupping one of your breasts, and though your breath hitches in your throat and you feel one of the buds harden at his thumbs' attention, that’s not where the worst of the feelings is coming from.
“Elvis please,” you beg, squirming at his touch.
“Oh I think I know Honeybee,” he says one hand now slowly dragging the hem of your nightgown up well past your hips, before he rubs his fingers along the seam of your panties.
In spite of the strangled feeling in your throat, you manage to squeak out a simple “yes,” as tears begin to well up in your eyes.
“Don’tchu worry Baby. I know somethin’ that can help,” he says as he drags the delicate fabric of your white cotton panties down to your knees. On reflex your thighs clench shut immediately but, with a few languid kisses he’s able to distract you from your skittishness and you feel the first tentative brush of his fingers on that sensitive flesh.
As much as you love your home you’ll admit that there was rarely if ever a moment for yourself there anymore. So him now brazenly touching the seldom explored area was mind-boggling for you, moreso when he begins to prod deeper, dipping between your folds and even one finger delving further than any other.
That gets a surprised gasp out of you before you bite down on your lip hard, embarrassed that you're feeling like this while he’s trying to help you. But while you’re able to hold back your noises, you can do nothing to help the way you’re breathing-well more panting- now or the way you’re shivering. You’ve never felt anything close to this in your life, but even this pales in comparison to when he adds a second finger, and you feel like you're about to burst.
“Honeybee… what’d ya know ‘bout baby-makin’,” he asks, seemingly out of the blue.
Part of you wants to act coy and say something like “enough” to get him to continue, but it’s hard to concentrate on any of that as you feel his fingers deep within you. So instead you reply with, “that…that o-ooh-only a Husband and Wife can make oNE.” you yelp that last part as he curls his fingers ever so slightly.
“And that’s it?” he asks with a bit of a skeptical look on his face, and you bury your face in his neck, a bit ashamed that that is the truth of the matter. “Oh Honeybee, you don’t gotta be that way,” he says, giving you a sweet kiss to your nose as he’s still three knuckles deep up your canal. “That’s the right of it, but I don’t think yer Mama ever mentioned that there ain’t no harm in practicin’ before the Weddin’ like this.”
“O-oh,” you say, part as an answer, part an involuntary noise to the way his thumb starts to circle around that pearl between your folds.
“You like that baby girl?” he purrs to you. Your eyes are shut tight and you’re trying to move your hips in tandem with his motions.
“Y-yes,” you manage to whimper, so focused on chasing that feeling he’s causing that you don’t even notice when he drags the straps of your nightgown fully down your shoulders. And it’s as you suddenly feel him bite down hard on the soft skin of your breast do you finally peak with a harrowing sob.
You cling on to him for dear life as wave after wave of pleasure surges through you all at once and you feel as though you’re going to float away any moment. But holding on to him, kissing him, and feeling his skin against your tethers you here, reassuring you that this isn't a dream.
You feel his fingers leave you, and that paired with him pulling away from your lips causes a small whine to come from you. You’re quickly quieted from the shock of seeing him stick the same fingers in his mouth giving a contented groan, “Course my Honeybee’s got the sweetest nectar he whispers against your lips, before giving you a taste for yourself.
You feel boneless and weightless yet your eyes feel so heavy from all that you just experienced, but for as tired as you are at that moment, you’re not ready to go back to dreaming yet.
“Ca-can I try that on you?” you ask meekly still in a bit of a haze from that euphoric feeling.
A bite to his lip prevents it from being a full blown grin “You sure ‘bout that Baby? Mine’s a lil’ different… well not too lil’,” he says. Clearly amused by your request to make him feel just as good.
“I wanna help,” you insist. He chuckles at how eager you were before he guides your hand down to a prominent bulge in his briefs. You’re not too sure what exactly you’re feeling through the rough cotton, just that it is either intensely painful or pleasurable to Elvis given how his breath hitches and his eyes slam shut. You try to remove your hand but his vice-like grip on your wrist prevents that and you can only further palm him.
You apply a bit more pressure, you take the sigh of contentment as a good sign before you delve underneath the fabric of his shorts.
You watch, a bit fascinated as you work to get the rough fabric down, and suddenly you’re face to face with something you’ve never seen before. A long thick column of flesh stands before you, bobbing slightly as he takes deep breath after breath. The skin feels soft but unyielding beneath your touch and you patiently await his instructions, but that deep groan that comes from him as you apply a bit of pressure makes you feel all sorts of powerful over this beautiful man.
He has you gather the slick from between your legs and even spit in your own hand to make it easier for you to slide up and down the shaft. His eyes are screwed shut, his long lashes brushing his cheeks, and he’s mumbling his praises for you, which only further encourages you.
He’s unraveling before your eyes, and you take great delight in being a witness to it. You’ve seen him dance before so it shouldn’t be surprising how well he’s able to move his hips, but it does add an entirely new context to it and you hope the next time you see him on stage you’ll be able to not think of him like this.
An idea pops into your head, and you decide to jump on it before you lose your nerve, and you give a soft kiss to the very tip of him. He freezes in place, his eyes wide and shocked at your teasing, his chest rising and falling and you feel heat flood your entire being.
“I-I’m so-sorry,” you breath out, embarrassed that you may have unintentionally done something you weren’t supposed to do. “I just th-thought you mi-” you cut off as he chuckles at your obvious distress before giving you a sweet kiss.
“Just surprised me Honeybee, thas all,” he reassures you against your lips, before giving you a little nibble there. “Why don’tcha try that again?” he drawls, trying to not appear too eager, but it’s apparent even to you.
You get right back to it, and you give even softer kisses along the shaft, each one being punctuated by a low moan from him, until you finally get to the very top of him, and you run your tongue along the small slit to be found there.
His hips stutter at that and one second you’re wondering what’s happening to him, the next you’re a coughing mess as that salty stream hits the back of your throat. He’s now just as dazed as you feel his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back, as you settle, and he takes charge in getting you both ready for bed.
As you lay side by side, he has nothing but praise for you whispering how good and perfect you were between hungry kisses until you drift off to sleep.
The next day would mark the first time you didn’t write to your mother. Part because you have already accepted she wouldn’t reply, part wanting to also keep that as private as possible. It also marks the first time in your life you don’t share something that felt so important with her.
Your Mama never liked talking about your daddy beyond saying that they loved each other very much. She never went into detail beyond that believing you were too young to hear them, but she never gave you an idea when you would be grown enough to hear them. But now above all else you want to hear when she knew she was in love with him, because you think you’re falling in love with Elvis.
Scratch that.
You know you are but you would give anything right now to be able to talk to somebody about it. And it’s upsetting that the person you usually talk your worries through is also one of your biggest ones at the moment. But even then you would have been willing to discuss it with her, if only she was willing to do so back.
It seems the more upset you become with her, the more comforting Elvis becomes to you. Even still you hesitate to share your fears with him until he is the one that broaches it.
“What’s on your mind Honeybee?” he says as he draws circles along your hip.
“Nothing much,” you dismiss. “Just trying to figure out when it's best to plant everything.”
His sardonic smile tells you he doesn’t believe you one bit, “C’mon darlin’ I know ya’ better than that.” Which is a bit of an understatement, as it feels like these days he’s able to read you better than you can yourself anymore.
After letting out a long tired sigh, you tell him “I think she’s mad at me,” while you two were settling into bed.
“Now who could ever be mad at my Honeybee?” he says, bringing you closer to him.
“My mama,” you say solemnly, tears in your eyes. “She’s never replied to a single letter of mine, and I write to her everyday.”
“I’m sure she’s just busy,” he tries to comfort you. But they ring hollow knowing that she always used to say- something you even quoted her in your last letter- ‘I’m never too busy for you Rosebud.’ He pulls you close to his chest as he rubs his hand along your back, “Darlin’ your mama is a hard-headed woman- lord knows I got the scars to prove it- but I don’t think she could stay mad at you forever.”
“What?” you say, sitting up to face him fully.
“What?”
“What do you mean you have the scars to prove it?”
“O-oh…” he says with a slight grimace on his face, before giving a bit of an awkward chuckle. “We-well… ya’ remember before I left, I-I asked you to’ run away with us?” You nod your head slowly. “Well that night, when I went back to the farm to tell her… she… she had a bit of a fit.”
“That doesn’t answer my question E.”
His lips form a thin line, clearly reluctant to tell you more, but he does eventually cave with a long hard sigh. “She got so mad at the thought a you leavin’ she grabbed my hand somethin’ fierce, and… and… well…” he trails off as he presents you the palm of his left hand, where you can see some small jagged silvery lines along it.
“She… she did this?” you whisper, lightly touching the scars, unbelieving that your Mama could do such a thing. She was the one who hardly ever raised her voice and didn’t even swat at Bees in front of you. How could she hurt him like this?
“I-I understand not wantin’ your kid to run away,” he says, “but I don’t think hurtin’ one like this was needed. But that wasn’t even the worst part of it.”
“What is it?”
“She… she banned me from ever comin’ back to the farm again. Couldn’t even say goodbye to ya properly,” he says somberly, his eyes sad as he tenderly cupped your cheek.
“I’m sorry,” you say, at a loss for what else you could say knowing what you do now.
“You don’t got nothin’ to apologize for baby,” he says softly, holding your hand in his scarred one. “And listen Honeybee, if she’s so mad that she don’t wantcha back, you’ll always have a home here,” he promises before he gives you a kiss to your temple and turns off the light.
You know the words were meant to be comforting, but they have the opposite effect and make your stomach drop at the prospect that she may be that mad. It has never occurred in your mind that she may be that cross with you for leaving
But like a fowl little seed, those words are implanted in your mind and take root. You wish he had never said those words, but you can hardly fault him for his attempts to console you in your hurt.
Would she ever be so mad at you? You wonder to yourself. You feel Elvis hands wrap around your waist and you remember the marks your Mama left on him in a rage. And that was simply from the idea that you would leave. What would she do now that you've actually left?
Elvis has never had a bad word to say about anybody, but you realize even he was being far more generous than was needed for what she had done. All that over a stupid kiddy idea of running away?
You lay there for hours with the only sounds being Elvis’ steady breathing. The longer you’re awake the more you think about it, which fuels the vicious cycle as those thoughts make it harder to fall asleep. Doubt creeps into your very soul that the home you are so desperate to return to will even be there come spring, and you silently weep.
But not as silently as you thought, as Elvis is awake within seconds. He holds you so close and so tight that it truly feels like he’ll never let go.
“No matter what,” he whispers in your ear. “Your home will always be here with me, Honeybee.”
You’re touched by his words and the way he holds you makes you feel so safe now and you kiss him fiercely, and want nothing more than to be as close to him as possible.
Up until this point you had been reluctant to go that final step with Elvis, pretty much doing everything but that last act. As greedy as he could be with your body (given how many hours he’s spent with his head between your legs), he had asserted you would be the one to decide when you would cross that final line with him. Though from the tone of his voice each time he said it, you figured he was gunning for it to be sooner rather than later.
You don’t know what exactly it is about the idea that you may not have a home to return to that makes you want to attach yourself further to him. You want to forget about everything when you’re with him and he makes it easy to do so. Being with him makes you so happy in way you don’t ever think you’ve experienced on the farm, and you
“Are ya sure sweetheart,” he groans, before his eyes snap shut as you rub your lower lips along his shaft, as you’ve done dozens of times before.
“Yes,” you whine, wanting to feel him the way he was meant to be.
When he finally slides into you, you can’t help the satisfied hum that escapes you, as he slides right into you. You’re on top and he lets you set the pace for yourself, which is good as even with all of your previous practice with him, you still need some time to adjust to the size of him up that secret channel of yours.
You can see the sheer will power it’s taking for him to let you go your own speed, so once the pleasure overtakes the pain, without any more preamble, you begin to quicken your hips and ride him like your life depends on it. It may very well, considering the closer you get to you climax the more it feels like you may pass out before you get to that point.
“This right here,” he grons, rolling his hips up into you rubbing his thumb along that button of yours. “This is where home is.”
“Yes,” you sob, tears streaming down your face, “Home… you.” you cry, unable to finish as he hits just the right spot within and your vision is being blurred by stars.
You feel so whole as he spills within you, and with his now softened cock still snuggly within you, “I love you Elvis,” you sigh into his chest, content to fall asleep then and there, but you quickly realize your mistake as your words seem to reinvigorate him and he takes you a few more times until the crack of dawn. But between his filthy words and his declarations of love one thing he says sticks out to you the most.
“Ain’t nothin’ ever gonna take you away now Honeybee,” he groans as you pick up the pace, his hand squeezing your bottom so tight, only further cementing how secure you are here.
Slowly but surely you stop writing to your mother. What was something you previously did everyday, became every other week, to eventually once a week once February came. And even the ones you do send are limited to very basic and dry summaries of the week, as to what flowers you were focusing on and general questions as to how everybody else is doing back home. Gone are the days of you waxing poetically about your confusion over your feelings for Elvis and you plea for a single response from her. She’s shown her interest in your life, as well as shown how willing she is to be involved with it anymore so you decide to accept it, albeit with a heavy heart.
The last time you expressed anything even remotely emotional with her was how you find it hard to think of the farm as being home anymore when she’s been so cold to you these last few months, and how you doubt you even want to go back.
She doesn’t reply.
Elvis seems to take to his new role in your life surprisingly well. Always willing to help you through your emotional turmoil when he was home and shield you from the rest.
He seems to take great comfort in you as well, and the greenhouse has now even become a place away from all of it. When he’s home one of the first things he does is visit you there, and simply sit with you for a few hours. You think it’s mostly to serve as a breather between all the chaos that is his life outside of these glass walls, but you’re all too happy to help him in this way as he’s helped you.
That feeling of perfection you got when you first shared that pomegranate with him, you feel it almost everyday in that greenhouse with him. The light shining through the panes of glass keeping the place warm, the fresh air coming from the sproutlings in their pots, his soft humming. All of it adding up to a dream you never want to wake up from.
The beginning of Spring came and went and neither of you brought up the fact that you were meant to be back at the farm. The most you do allude to it was you telling him to forward that final payment directly to your Mama, mostly as a last ditch effort to get her to finally respond to you for once.
She doesn’t respond.
You and Elvis decide then and there to wash your hands of her, though it was perhaps the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do. But you can’t keep letting her silence break your heart so you focus all of your energy into two things: Elvis and making Graceland beautiful.
The first one is pretty easy to do considering when he is home, there is little to no distance between you two. He can hardly keep his hands off of you anymore when he’s here, with nights spent under the sheets, and days spent literally everywhere else on the property. He seems to be particularly fond of being in the Greenhouse, loving to see you so in your element in there only to bend you over your work table and take you hot and heavy from behind.
These encounters only make you feel his absence even more, as while you’re not exactly alone in Graceland it does make the big property feel all the emptier. Which in turn makes your second focus all the harder.
You’ve by now planted any and all flowers you intended to and they are all well on their way to growing strong, and now knowing you’re going to be staying, you’re happy that you’ll be able to do so for years to come. Now that you’ve gotten past the most trying part, tending to them is going to be a cinch…
Or it would be if you weren’t so tired all the time.
Oftentimes you find yourself napping in the most inopportune places around the property. Sweet Pea has apparently appointed herself as your official protector while you rested outside and by extension roped Brutus and Snoopy into it as well. You can’t even begin to count the amount of times you would want to rest your eyes for a minute only to find hours had passed and three dogs at the ready to guard you from whatever may come. WHich considering how you’ve been feeling sicker and sicker lately what with the fever you’ve been feeling and the nausea you’ve been having some mornings.
You don’t exactly understand why you’re far more sensitive to smell nowadays. You almost threw up the other morning from the smell of the eggs, which has Dodger and Miss Gladys looking very funny at you. You don’t pay it any mind though as you were just glad that you’re still able to appreciate the smell of flowers.
You’re in a far better mood today, what with Elvis set to return later, you decided to leave a surprise in his office. The roses were in full bloom now, so you decided to pluck a few for old times sake and leave some for him.
As you’re placing the vase down onto the desk, you watch as one of the blooms falls right off the stems and rolls to the other side of it. But when you go to pick it up, what you find is far stranger.
With the amount of fan mail he gets, you wouldn’t have paid the neat stack any mind if you hadn’t immediately recognized your own handwriting on the very top one. ANd you would have taken that as a very crazy coincidence if it weren’t for the fact that it also has your old address on the front.
And it’s not just that one, you find a couple dozen envelopes with your handwriting and address on the front, and an unpleasant feeling fills your belly as you tentatively remove a page from the envelope.
And it’s there that you read your own gut-wrenching words of your loneliness here and your wishes that your mother would write back to you. How you plead for her to reach out if only to reassure you that she’s alive and getting these letters.
You had imagined that they had either been destroyed the moment your mother saw them or gathering dust somewhere in your old childhood home. But now you find them here, a place you know very few are even allowed to be.
She didn’t get any of them you realize looking at the thick stack, an icky sense of violation creeping under your skin, seeing them worn and wrinkled in some places, but somebody definitely read these.
You want to throw up, and not just because of your newfound sensitive stomach, but due to the revelation that if he didn’t send any of them, then that meant… he had seen you be upset to the point of crying over this, all the while blaming your Mama for it and letting you take comfort in him.
Not only that, he read about your loneliness and actively decided to make you feel even more isolated by not letting you talk to your Mama. He held you as you cried over the fact she wasn’t talking to you and said nothing.
Your heart is pounding in your chest and you stagger back so far that you knock the vase full of roses right off the desk. You don’t pay it any mind and leave them and the letters where you find them. You have to get away, you have to go home.
You don’t bother to grab anything (it’s all his anyway), you simply find Jerry and tell him that he has to take you back to Tupelo right now. He’s stuttering trying to make the usual excuses of why he couldn’t take you, but he’s weak to your tears, and he silently leads you to the car.
It’s a long silent trip save for your quiet sobs from the passenger side. You don’t know if he’s intentionally stalling or if the drive is truly this long, either way it feels like forever before you can finally breathe within the Lee County borders.
You take comfort in the landmarks becoming more and more familiar until finally you see your home in the distance. You don’t take your eyes off of it for even a second, afraid it may disappear the moment you do so. You have a hard time believing it’s even real until you stand before the front door.
You hold the doorknob hesitating to open it, fearful as to what you may find on the other side, but ultimately you know that there is no possible way it can be any worse than where you just came from.
It’s oddly shocking how nothing has really changed in the months you’ve been gone. It’s almost as though you just walked out minutes ago, but you yourself feel you’ve changed so much since you were last here. The furniture arrangement is the same, as are the books on the shelf, and even your Mama's house slippers are in their usual spot.
You listen as someone is cooking in the kitchen, and you feel your heart warm knowing that at the very least you accomplished what you had set out to do and provide for your family, regardless of the sick feeling that work has left in your belly.
“Kate that you?” you hear from the voice that has accompanied you your whole life. “I told all y’all to take the da-” she cuts herself off upon seeing you.
You almost don’t recognize her, the streaks of white in her hair, the fine lines in the corners and the heavy bags underneath her eyes, overall speak to the way your absence has affected her these last few months. You feel guilty for every unkind thought you’ve had of her all this time, as you can now see for yourself how much she missed you. She looks as though she’s aged ten years in the months you’ve been away, and you can only imagine how you’ve so drastically changed in her eyes.
But none of that matters in the moment, as she drops everything in her hands and proceeds to take you in her arms and sob uncontrollably. You meet her halfway weeping just as fiercly in her chest, you thought you had run out of tears during the drive, only to find a new spring, as she blubbers in your ear “my baby’s home.”
Even after some time had passed like that, you can’t even begin to form any semi-coherent sentence as you blubber over and over again your apologies for being gone for so long. She’s long since stopped her own tears in favor of comforting you which only makes you feel all the worse.
“Shh, it’s gonna be okay,” she whispers, having long since stopped her own tears in favor of comforting you now. “You’re home now, Rosebud. Everything’s gonna be okay,” and guilt eats at you, that you could ever even entertain the thought that she wouldn’t want you back.
You remain in that state for what feels like hours, with your head in her lap as she smooths down your hair and in spite of all the turmoil you’ve undoubtedly put her through, it’s clear your comfort is her priority. Eventually though she does gather up the courage to ask you where you’ve been this whole time.
After all you’ve put her through you figure that she at least deserves the truth, so you sit up to face her. But before you can even open your mouth you hear the front door open. Any nominal contentment you’ve found being back home all slips away when you hear the familiar heavy footfalls of the man you’ve been dreading seeing all day.
“There you are Honeybee,” Elvis says, leaning against the doorframe, the familiar rakish smile in place. Those words are so familiar yet now they feel foreign as you no longer recognize the man who utters them to you.
It feels like in mere seconds your mama has brought you to your feet and now you stand behind her, and away from him. “What are you doin’ here!?” she shouts, her body tense and rigid, as though ready to defend you from a lion rather than a single man.
He hardly even glances her way, his eyes firmly set on you. “Here to take my Honeybee back home of course.” Your mama doesn’t even waste a second after hearing that, she only wordlessly approaches and takes a swing at him. But he was ready for that, as he easily catches her wrist, and brought her close to him “Ain’t so easy now I ain’t a runt no more?” he says, grinning ear to ear, a deadly look crossing his steely blue eyes.
This catches both of you off guard but your Mama is quick to recover and attempts to shove him right out the door with a mighty “Get outta my house!”
“Not without her,” he says, unnervingly keeping his voice low and cool, as though he were still very much in control of the situation.
He may still very well be, you think.
Before you can even think to help your mama, he easily maneuvers around her only to walk straight towards your frozen figure and put an arm around your shoulder.
“C’mon Honeybee,” he says, blatantly ignoring the tears streaming down your face. “Time to head home,” and you shiver when he runs his thumb along your cheek the way he’s done a million times before. You see your mama look wide-eyed at this familiar interaction, and to your horror so does Elvis. “That’s right you don’t know where she’s been,” he says, giving a faux innocent look while boldly admitting right in front of you he never sent any of those letters. “Why don’tcha tell her darlin’.” he declares, punctuating his familiarity with a kiss to your cheek. You don’t know what’s worse, the look of shock on your mama’s face as he does this, or the dissatisfied look he shoots you when you curl away from him.
Your mama doesn’t need to be a genius to figure out what he’s implying, as you watch her deflate as she looks at you and gives a very defeated “why?”
“Mama,” you whimper, wanting nothing more than to go to her, but Elvis’ arms keeping you firmly in place. “We-we needed the money, after the fire and…”
You stop yourself short as your Mama seems to contemplate your words, only to make some sort of realization of her own before, a look of horror slowly creeping onto her face. “It was you wasn’t it?” She seethes in a low voice.
“What was?” he says, trying to seem innocent but unable to fully mask his amusement at her state.
“The fire…” she said in a small voice, not even daring to continue.
No, you refuse to believe. Ain’t no way he would go that far, but then you remember Jerry’s skittishness when he learned you had a flower shop in Tupelo as well as his reluctance to deny you a single thing, that big favor he apparently did for Elvis to earn his shiny new Cadillac. All of it is making a lot of sense, but you’re still unwilling to go that far for a chance to be with you.
That is until he says, “Now that’s a mighty big accusation,” coolly, with a bit of a smirk as he looks down on her.
You freeze in place at that line. That’s not a no, you think, somehow still wanting to lie to yourself. He steals a glance at you and his face softens as he holds your shoulders and looks earnestly into your eyes as he says, “Honeybee you don’t think I would ever do something’ like that, now would you?���
You have to think on that for a moment, and you’re quiet until his grip tightens ever so slightly and his face noticeably drops from earnest to frustrated. You swallow deeply as you give a very unconvincing “No, of co-”
“Get your hands off her,” your mama spits, ripping you away from him, but he’s persistent, callously shoving her to the ground and gripping your jaw in his ringed hand.
“Because if it’s true,” he continues so softly even as the cold metal digs into your cheeks. “Then I wonder what else I’d be willin’ to do to keep ya,” he casually threatens a sadistic look in his eyes as a wide grin spreads across his face.
You feel your throat close as he glances down at your Mama, who’s struggling to get off the floor. He lets you go and you’re able to bring her to a chair. You once thought she was invincible but now you see her trembling clearly shaken up by this whole thing. Whatever your mama had; money, influence, respect, Elvis had in spades. She’s effectively powerless against him, but she still finds the strength to angle herself in front of you to try to block him.
She’s afraid of him no doubt about it, but she’s still willing to defend you with her life.
Would he be willing to go that far? You think and you let out a sob knowing the answer already.
“Choice is yours darlin’,” he whispers right next to your ear. “If you’re willin’ to choose.” and then he steps right out onto the porch. You hope in vain that somehow he’s decided to leave, but that quickly dies as you hear him strike a match and you smell the familiar miasma of his favorite cigars.
He wouldn’t, you think, but you can no longer put anything past him. You don’t ever want to truly find out what he’d be willing to if it meant keeping you by him, especially not at your mama’s expense. But you know in your gut how you can protect her.
If you have one thing to thank your earlier crying fits for, it’s that you’re tapped dry at this point, so as you say to her “Mama I gotta go now,” you can say it with a little bit of dignity.
“No… no Rosebud,” she pleads with you holding both of your hands. “Please stay… we can figure this out,” she says, the tears welling up in her eyes, as she comes to the same realization as you do.
“It’s gonna be okay Mama,” you vainly try to reassure her but mostly yourself. “But you gotta let me go,” you sob, wanting to do anything but. And you have to leave her crying in the home she made for you.
You find him leaning against the porch railing, eyes slowly opening as you move closer to him. “Yes Honeybee,” he says, cloyingly sweet, as he wraps an arm around your shoulders.
“Elvis…please… just-just take me home,” you whisper, burying your face into his chest.
“Course sweetheart, anythin’ for you,” he says, and you shudder knowing he means it. You walk away from the porch and you breathe a sigh of relief as he drops the cigar into the dirt and stamps it out. “I really oughta quit anyway,” he says. “Heard it’s bad for the baby.”
“What?” you say, your blood turning to ice hearing that.
“Ain’t it like magic Honeybee?” he sighs as you both get in the backseat of Jerry’s car, the owner of which is pointedly not looking at either of you. Elvis pays no mind to it, instead absentmindedly rubbing your lower belly back and forth. “You plant somethin’ so small, and it’ll grow up to be somethin’ else,” he sighs in contentment, and you close your eyes to yet another revelation that is coming far too late.
“But… but… you said, that it only happens when you’re married,” you say, though your spirit has long since been defeated.
“Don’tchu worry none ‘bout that sweetheart,” he dismisses. “We are gonna get married real soon, and ain’t no one gonna be the wiser.”
There’s something so final in that revelation that you are now forever tied to him not by your own choices, but by his. He chose you.
He knew what he was doing and he knew you didn’t.
Looking back you don’t think there was ever anything within your control. What’s worse is that a part of you wishes you had never gone into his office today and could have lived blissfully, unburdened with the knowledge of what he was willing to do to get you.
You love him, which makes this betrayal feel all the worse. You glance to the side to see the fields of flowers you’re leaving behind, as he slowly slips a ring on your finger. Now he’s not even gonna pretend that you have a choice in the matter, you are going to marry him because he said so.
With his hand in yours you feel as the car transitions from the dirt road to the paved one that will take you far away from your home.
You close your eyes and you don’t look back.
Alternate Summary: In which Elvis sees himself as a triumphant Orpheus when he’s actually a victorious Hades.
Taglist
@venus-haze @djsjs13949 @ilovehobi101 @butlerslut @richardslady121 @giabelia @sydneyyyya @meetme0614 @tacozebra051 @myradiaz @thelifes-world @maythesunshineagain @rakitirakiti @lostteenagetale @j-v-9-2 @eliseinmemphis @dkayfixates @immi547 @thatbanditqueen @marriedtoeddie @cuteejeno @itlover8000 @isthlsfate @mgparker @thatbanditqueen @softsatnin @literally-just-elvis-fics
#Elvis#elvis presley#elvis 2022#austin!elvis#yandere#yandere elvis#yandere!elvis#yandere!elvis x reader#yandere x reader#yandere austin!elvis x reader#austin butler#austin!elvis angst#austin!elvis fic#elvis x reader#austin!elvis x reader#austin butler elvis#austin butler x reader#smh#it's not showing up in the tags yet again#hadestown inspired#hadestown#hades and persephone#hades#persephone#orpheus#eurydice#istg#I'm so done with you tumblr
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Austin Butler
One Shots
Falling Apart - Austin!Elvis x Reader
Jealous - Austin Butler x Reader
(I DO NOT DO TAG LISTS!!!)
***PLEASE DO NOT POST MY WORK ON ANY OTHER PLATFORM WITHOUT CREDIT!!!!***
#austin!elvis x reader#austin butler#Austin butler x reader#austin butler imagine#Austin butler one shot#austin butler x fem!reader#austin butler x you#austin butler x y/n#Elvis 2022#elvis movie#austin!elvis fanfiction#austin!elvis fic#austin!elvis x fem!reader#Austin!elvis x you#Austin!elvis x y/n#Austin!elvis angst#Austin!elvis fluff#Austin butler angst#Austin butler fluff
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heaven can wait
pairing: austin!elvis x reader
summary: you suffer from a life-threatening stomach disorder, but elvis will always be by your side, no matter how difficult life becomes.
warnings: extremely angsty, hurt/comfort, sensitive topics including psuedo-obstruction motility disorder, suicidal thoughts, elvis’ infatuation with reader, vaguely implied sub reader, mentions of violence, elvis’ refers himself as “daddy” once (non-sexual)
rated: M (contains extremely sensitive topics and mentions of suicide)
word count: 2,097
note: please please read this at your own risk, it is extremely angsty but contains a lot of comfort as well. this work was inspired by a scene in a movie called “miracles from heaven”. i hope you all enjoy this and please feel free to share any feedback you have for me however if you dislike this work, please don’t spread hate on my page. thank you all so so much for the love and support on the previous fics and there will be much more to come in the future. love you all. <3
“there’s so many places i haven’t been yet. i’d like to go to europe and japan. i’ve never performed outside of the country before.”
you weakly smiled, listening to your boyfriend passionately share the dreams and goals he wanted to achieve further down the line of his career. he had your cold hand that was connected to an IV held into his warm one, and you unconsciously rubbed your fingertips over his rings, finding the cool sensation soothing. you gazed up at him lovingly, taking in his appearance as he sat in the chair next to your bedside under the dim light of the hospital room. you noticed the dark bags under his red, swollen eyes. his hair becoming messier over time from him consistently running his fingers through it, his bangs falling over his forehead each time. his black long-sleeved shirt was unbuttoned halfway leaving a part of his chest exposed. his attitude, however, contradicted his current state, and his genuine smile never left his face. despite his zombie-like demeanor and functioning on only two hours of sleep, elvis was utterly attractive.
a pool of guilt slowly starting to fill you. this was your fault, you’re the reason why he’s like this. if you’d never gotten sick he would have never been in this position, to begin with. he would’ve been touring all around the country, performing for the millions of fans that spent the rest of their life savings to see him perform in person and here he was, taking care of you. he canceled all of his upcoming shows, and put his career on hiatus. you didn’t even want to imagine the expression on the colonel’s face when elvis made the announcement to the press. your weak smile faded as your gaze fell on your hospital gown covering your bloated stomach. your thoughts were interrupted when he spoke.
“but of course, before i do any of that i need to take my baby to paris so we could visit that eiffel tower you always told me about, how’s that sound?”
your mouth curved into a small frown, you shook your head.
“i don’t know,” you muttered, “i’m probably never going to paris anyway.”
elvis sighed, bringing your hand up to his mouth and pressing his lips against the tubes attached to your cold skin.
“don’t say that doll,” he brought your hand back down to your side. “look, as soon as you get better we’re gonna travel the world together, and wherever you wanna go i’ll take you. i promise.”
you looked away, feeling the lump in your throat starting to form. the only sound you released was a wet, shaky breath.
“i just wanna go home elvis,” you mumbled, shifting your body so you could lay on your side.
you wanted everything to be the way that it used to be when everyone was happy. you were sick and tired of constantly being in and out of the hospital. you were tired of everyone worrying about you, making them feel like they had to monitor you and treat you like a little girl who couldn’t care for herself. you were sick and tired of being a burden to elvis, who acted as your caregiver and provided the money for every appointment, surgery, medication, and personal medical equipment that was sent to graceland. he would bathe you, feed you, and would spend countless nights trying to console you from the continual pain you were always in, all while maintaining a positive attitude. you were sick and tired of listening to the colonel explain how you were only getting in the way of your boyfriend's career, and that putting his entire career on hold for a "sick little girl" was one of the dumbest decisions he'd ever made. you could recall the murderous expression on elvis’ face when those words came out of the snowman’s mouth, and it took three members of the memphis mafia to stop him from mauling the old man, spitting out curses and threatening to "rip his tongue out by the roots." he'd spend the rest of the day holding you and whispering comforting words into your ear, assuring you that you were his top priority and that he'd rather never sing again than let you suffer alone. you were sick and tired of being the root of every problem that occurs in the presley household. you were simply sick and tired of being sick and tired.
“we’re gonna go home soon precious, i promise you.” elvis whispered gently, his hand reaching up to caress your cheek.
“my friend daisy got to go home today,” you sniffed. “why can’t i?”
elvis weakly smiled as he stood up from his chair. he bent down and planted a kiss against your forehead.
“we just can’t take that chance baby doll,” he whispered against your skin.
you felt tears beginning to well up in your eyes. the familiar pain in your stomach starting to torment you once again.
“can i have a heating pad for my stomach it’s getting worse elvis,” you whimpered.
“of course darlin,” he stood up and swiftly maneuvered around your bed to grab the heating pad from the shelf.
“here you go sweet girl.” he gently helped shift your body to face him so he could help wrap it around your stomach.
“and i need another tramadol” you mumbled, pressing the pad against your stomach, trying to soothe the aching pain.
elvis leaned back looking up at the monitor and frowned once he realized that it was too early to take your pain medication. he held a guilty expression when he leaned back down and caressed your stomach gently.
“it isn’t time yet baby girl,” he whispered. “m’sorry.”
“but it hurts elvis!” you sobbed, finally breaking into tears. “don’t you understand that it never stops hurting,” you whimpered, “it never stops.”
elvis swallowed the lump in his throat. he leaned down and brushed your tears away with his thumb while placing gentle kisses on your cheeks. “i know it does honey,” he cooed, blinking away the tears that started to form in his eyes. “i know it does, baby.”
elvis felt completely helpless. he wanted nothing more than to take away all your pain and bare it himself. every agonizing wail that escaped your precious lips pierced through his heart. why has the lord allowed you to be tortured when you were such a good girl and so kind to him and everyone else? over the last couple of months, your stomach condition has gotten worse. nobody knew why or how you’ve gotten sick. not a single doctor or specialist could give elvis an accurate diagnosis, and argued that you were lactose intolerant or only had the flu, but he never believed it. it wasn’t lactose intolerance that had you screaming in the middle of the night, clutching your stomach in pain, and begging him to make it stop. the flu did not result in your stomach becoming extremely bloated. the moment he ran into the hospital holding you in his arms, begging any doctor or nurse to take away your pain was the moment he realized your life had changed. every night after you went to sleep elvis would kneel in front of your hospital bed and beg god to put him in your position and to give back the smile you lost so long ago. although your condition was as severe as it had ever been, elvis felt as though the lord has abandoned him since he didn’t believe you could endure this agony for much longer.
elvis knelt down in front of you and again took your hand in his, pressing firm kisses against your knuckles. his blue, tear-filled eyes never left yours as you began to collect yourself. silence filled the room until elvis felt the world come to a complete stop once he heard you utter the words he could never bare the prospect of hearing you say.
“i want to die…” you whispered.
elvis felt his heart plummeting down to the pit of his stomach. he felt the breath from his lungs, the life from his body completely knocked out of him. his face paled even more and he felt his stomach churn. the tears that he’s held for so long finally broke free. all he could do was release a ragged breath as he shook his head in disbelief.
“doll…” he breathed.
“i want to go to heaven where there’s no pain,” you cut him off, the pit of guilt and shame starting to spread again once you took in his heartbroken gaze.
elvis stuttered, “b-but baby if you went to heaven,” he shook his head again, a heavy smile forming on his lips. “you w-wouldn’t be with me or my mama anymore,” he whimpered. “and you’d rip a hole in my heart.”
“i’m sorry elvis,” you sobbed. “i don’t want to make you sad, i just want it to be over.”
through his desperate words, you felt as though your emotions were bubbling over the surface all at once, wiping the rolling tears that coated your cheeks. too ashamed to look at him any longer, you withdrew your hand from his trembling ones and adjusted your body to lie on your side with your back facing him. you wrapped your arms around your abdomen and continued to silently cry, hoping to eventually fall asleep.
elvis’ gaze fell to the back of your hospital gown. he felt a pang of extreme guilt that he couldn’t take your pain away. your words finally processed in his mind and he only became more upset. you wanted to die. it made him sick to think that you believed that death was the only way to end your suffering. you are the light of his life, the only thing that keeps him going every day. you are the last thought he has before falling asleep and the first thought he has when he wakes up. you both still have a ton of life left to live. he needs your assistance to guide him through his success as his music career begins to soar. after years of living through poverty and struggle, he was finally able to provide you and his family with a life filled with lavishness and extravagance. he still needs to marry you, and tour every aspect of the globe until there is nothing left for the two of you to discover. he still needs you to carry his children, three daughters and a son, and to come home from a long day at work to them running around the halls of graceland and you cooking his favorite southern dish. there was still so much to do, so much life for you to live. you are his sweet, pretty little girl, and he knows that without you in his life, he would be unable to function. elvis couldn’t breathe–couldn’t live without you by his side and if you died, it would be preferable if he did as well.
slipping off his shoes, elvis crawled into the hospital bed and cradled you to his chest from behind. you were always so small in his arms. he rested his head against yours, pressing a firm kiss to your temple. you felt his tears starting to wet your cheek and you only cried harder.
“you need to stay with me okay?” he hiccuped. “i-i need you to stay with daddy and fight so we could fly away together baby.” elvis’ trembling hands reached up to caress your cheek, brushing away his tears that spilled on them. his eyes revealed centuries worth of infatuation and how madly in love he is with you. “i promise i’m gon’ take you to paris and we’re gonna travel the world and go wherever you wanna go, but i need my little girl to not fly away without me. heaven’s gotta wait. you hear me? heaven has to wait a while longer, baby doll.” he breathed against your forehead.
all you could do was nod and utter a small “i love you” and silently cry into him. elvis buried his face against you, protectively wrapping his entire body around you, and continued to whisper in your ear how much he loves you. the both of you cried against each other throughout the rest of the night until you eventually fell asleep. you realized that no matter how difficult life became, no matter how sick or healthy you were, elvis was by your side through thick and thin, and the love you shared was unrivaled.
#elvis#elvis headcanons#elvis presley#elvis presley headcannons#elvis movie#austin!elvis x reader#austin!elvis angst#austin butler#elvis 2022#elvis presley fanfiction#austin butler fic#angst#angst/comfort#austin butler fanfiction#elvis x reader#comfort#elvis imagine#austin!elvis imagine#elvis presley imagine#austinbutlersgirlfriend
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𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞
Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader
Word count: 4K
Summary: After doing Vogue's “Life in Looks” and reminiscing on your life with Elvis and Caroline, your late husband makes sure you and your daughter know he's still around.
Warning(s): life after losing a spouse, lil bit angsty, inaccurate timelines etc, doesn't follow timelines of other fics including Caroline, set in the late 90s bc i felt like it (just pretend life in looks is on tv or smth lol), reminiscing about a deceased spouse, flashback, bit of spiritual stuff (i still wanted him to be in this lol ☻), Elvis' death is not described here or whatsoever.
A/N: so, i usually never write about elvis not being among us anymore but ofc... i got carried away. the ending is kinda silly, but i thought it was cute. this was requested by my dear @rosepresley and even though it turned out a little different, i hope you'll still enjoy it, love! <3
masterlist
While your husband was known to the world as The King and many other titles, to you he was just Elvis.
Even though the anniversary of his death ticked on twenty years now and you had given the loss a place, there wasn’t a day that you didn’t think about him or didn’t miss him.
Caroline was only nine when her father passed and even though nobody would ever forget him, you and your now twenty nine year old daughter worked hard to keep his legacy alive.
While still living at Graceland, which felt a lot emptier without your husband there, you’d make sure events would be held on the property which fans could be a part of – the Christmas lights ceremony during the holidays, sometimes even small concerts held for charities right in your front yard. At times, fans would still linger outside the gates–mostly on the day he had passed or during his birthday week–and you could spend hours out there talking to them.
While you weren’t always happy with the lack of privacy when being out with Elvis or having fans outside your house in the dead of the night, you felt like you owed the attention to them now. You were aware that you didn’t, but these were the people that loved when you talked about the man they looked up to – probably more than anyone.
Aside from that, you were still being asked for interviews and press as well. You loved talking about Elvis and your life with him, but you were still careful as to who exactly you told those stories to – you had declined enough interviews and TV specials in the past, as did Caroline, because you were both aware how the media could twist your words and make up their own story which they knew would sell better.
When Vogue asked you for their ‘Life in Looks’ series, you were doubtful at first. This meant you’d have to talk more so about yourself rather than Elvis, but Caroline reminded you how much you loved fashion and Vogue in particular. You had a trusty subscription of the magazine, getting most of your inspiration from it when it came to your sense of style. Your daughter always assured you that it would be okay for you to talk about yourself rather than about Daddy only and you knew she was right.
Despite your entire life having revolved, and still revolving, around Elvis, you were still your own person.
He would want you to do this, especially since he made big fashion statements himself back in the day and he loved dressing you up and picking out your outfits for you.
“Just pretend we’re not here, mrs. Presley. Take all the time you need,” one of the editors smiled at you as she stood besides the camera, another girl with a Vogue lanyard around her neck placing a big white photobook in front of you. “We’ve included fifteen looks for the day but we have more pictures at hand, so if you don’t feel comfortable telling about some, we can change them up a little,”
You smiled brightly, nodding your head as you let one of the stylists fix a lock of your hair, making sure it laid perfectly over your shoulder. You knew what to do because you weren’t foreign to the concept and had seen other people doing it, but you couldn’t help but be a little nervous.
Caroline stood on the side, putting her thumbs up as she smiled brightly – ever the supportive daughter.
You chuckled softly and shot her a wink, crossing your legs under the table you were sat at as you looked at the camera. As you got the cue they were rolling, you planted a bright smile on your face, manicured nails tracing the corners of the book in front of you.
“Hi Vogue, I’m Y/N Presley and this is my Life in Looks,” you told the camera happily, although making sure not to overdo your enthusiasm.
You continued on as you were told to do, knowing that they could cut and edit the taping it was meant to be shown to the public.
You opened the book, your smile growing a little as the first picture was of you being taken out on your first date with Elvis – he wasn’t shown in the picture, because this was mostly about you and the outfit you were wearing in the picture.
“The hair,” you pointed out, laughing softly as you tapped your nail against your very extravagant hairdo. It was all high and teased, and very out there. “This was in 1960, during our first date at the fair. He rented out the place like he usually did and I remember the air being so humid, even at night, I was not having a good time with this much hair,” you chuckled, remembering how you’d complain to Elvis how you wished you would’ve kept your hair down.
He assured you you looked gorgeous, even with the sheen of sweat on your forehead. You had known Elvis since before he served in the army, so you weren’t ashamed when he pointed it out. Before he became the love of your life, he was your best friend first.
“This little dress came out of my very own closet. I don’t even think it was a brand, but I was obsessed,” you giggled, looking at the camera. Sneakily catching Caroline’s eye, a smirk tugged at your lips. “She doesn’t like me saying this, but Caroline wore this dress on the first date she went on,” you whispered and your daughter gasped soundlessly, muffling a chuckle in the palm of her hand.
You smiled happily as you turned the page, talking the viewers through a few more pictures that were taken of you at the airport and so on, reminiscing happily about the day it was taken and about what you were wearing. Even though this interview was specifically cathered to you, you still talked about Elvis during pretty much every picture but you didn’t care – and neither did the crew.
This man had been your entire life. The only man you had ever been with. How could you not talk about him?
Your heart skipped a beat as you turned the page and looked right at a wedding picture of you and Elvis.
“Oh, this was such a big day for us. Our wedding day,” you smiled lovingly at the camera before looking back down, your finger tracing Elvis’ face in the picture. The camera above your head made sure to catch it. “Charlie Hodge, who as you all might know worked for Elvis, went with me to go dress shopping because people would recognize me going into stores and then they’d find out there would be a wedding,” you laughed softly, looking at the camera as you placed your hands neatly on the table underneath the book. “I put on a little disguise and me and Charlie pretended to be the ones getting married – nobody recognized us,”
Caroline’s cheeks were aching with how big she was smiling, her hands clutched firmly against her chest. She always loved hearing you talk about your life with her father before the time she was born and she could see how much you were enjoying it.
“I picked this dress because it was very lightweight and feminine, and it matched perfectly with Elvis’ suit,” you looked at the picture again, smiling fondly at the smiling face of your husband in the picture before turning the page once more.
After talking about your honeymoon for a little bit, Caroline knew what was coming and she giggled softly as she watched you pout at the camera, tapping the picture of you and Elvis while holding little baby Caroline in your arms. It was taken only a few hours after you had given birth, but dressed in a pink dress and your hair teased to perfection, it looked far from a woman who had nearly broke her husband’s hand hours before.
“Look at that face, that’s a happy dad,” you grinned as you pointed out Elvis’ face, who was smiling cutely as he looked at Caroline in your arms while you sat on the bed. “He couldn’t believe he had a child and you can clearly see that on his face. I think a lot of men are like this, but he was afraid to hold her – terrified. I was never allowed to leave his side when she’d be in his arms because he was so scared that he’d drop her,” you laughed, the memories flashing before your eyes.
“El, you won’t hurt her, I promise you,” you laughed as you sat on your knees on the bed, baby Caroline sleeping safe and sound in your arms, Elvis propped up against the headboard of the bed.
He was in his underwear, wanting to try the method of holding his baby girl against his bare chest because he read in one of your parenting books that it’d help to steady the bond between child and father.
You had forgotten about the books long ago, because as soon as you held Caroline in your arms for the first time, motherhood came natural to you. Elvis would read them every night in bed, because he wanted to make sure to become the picture perfect father.
You didn’t give him time to back out of it, moving closer to him on your knees in a slow pace as you handed Caroline to him, making sure to put her in a supported position. He placed a gentle hand under her head, his other on her tiny back as she laid comfortably in his arms, pressed against his chest.
The room was just the right temperature but you could see that the baby who was only wearing a diaper immediately enjoyed the warmth radiating off Elvis’ chest when their skins touched. She bawled her tiny hands into fists before sprawling her little fingers, her eyes slowly fluttering open.
“Stay with me, honey,” he told you with a soft hint of panic on his tongue, making sure you wouldn’t leave his side as he held Caroline.
You laughed softly and nodded, sinking further in the mattress as you mimicked his position and sat next to him. You smiled down at your daughter as her eyes found Elvis’, a goofy smile spreading across her face.
“She likes this,” you told him, gently leaning your head against his upper arm, your fingertips ghosting over Caroline’s forehead. “I think the rhythm of your heart calms her down,” you pointed out in a whisper, you and Elvis watching as the little girl in his arms stared up at her father, her tiny chest heaving up and down slowly.
“She’s so pretty,” he whispered lowly, afraid the vibrations of his voice if he spoke any louder would scare his daughter. Moving his arm a little lower so she rested on just one arm, he brought his other hand to her face, feather light fingertip trailing down her nose. “Your nose,”
You chuckled softly at the way Caroline’s smile widened because of his touches, her toothless gums on full display. Elvis laughed softly, turning to press a kiss on the top of your head.
“Can you believe we made… this?”
“Hmmhmm. Because she has your mouth,” you laughed softly, kissing his shoulder. “I bet she’ll be just as stubborn as you,”
He feigned a gasp, shoulders shaking a little as he laughed – he was about to comment that she’d definitely get the stubborness from you, but as Caroline giggled right along with the two of you, all he could do was stare at her with fond eyes.
Slowly but surely, Elvis allowed you to do your own thing whenever he’d hold her. His favorite spot was always in the bed, because that way he was absolutely sure nothing could happen to her.
Nothing ever did happen to her whenever he was holding her though, whenever in or out the bed, and to you he was a damn good father.
A natural, like you – but he never believed those words no matter how many times you’d tell him.
Caroline watched you proudly the entire time, talking about your life with her and her father, and how your own sense of style had changed throughout the years. Although Elvis loved picking out things for you to wear, you developed a big interest in fashion and design as you got older and he loved whenever you’d wear something that you designed yourself.
Your style was similar to his – the two of you always matched perfectly, looking sophisticated but still out there, turning heads. The two of you were always comfortable around each other, but not so comfortable it would turn sloppy.
There were never days where you would be lounging around the house in pajamas for an entire day. Elvis loved to dress up on any occasion, even when not leaving the house, and so did you.
On Christmas and New Year’s Eve, you’d both go all out, putting on your best fits because that’s when you felt most confident. And to the both of you, that was one of the best feelings in the world.
There weren’t much pictures of you and Elvis with Caroline when she was young because that’s something both you and your husband wanted to keep private. You did allow the crew to put a picture of Caroline’s 6th birthday in the book in front of you, because it was one of your favorites – you actually had it framed on your bedside table.
“See, this is Care’s 6th birthday and even though it was only a child’s birthday party, we were dressed like we were going to the fanciest place in town,” you told the camera, laughing softly. Elvis was in all black except for the white collar that was popped up, velvet trench coat adorning his frame. You and Caroline wore matching dresses – white ruffled poet shirts underneath a hand beaded mid length shift dress, the pattern on it throwing you right back into the 70s because of the small flowers on it. “But that was just.. our style. And Elvis loved dressing up Caroline – he loved it when she matched with us, no matter what the occasion was,”
You shot a sneaky wink Caroline’s way, who was soundlessly gasping for a breath of air as she felt a lump forming in her throat. She loved talking about Elvis as much as you did and she was able to without breaking down because it had been so many years, but the love she felt for her father was unexplainable.
Untouchable.
Their bond had always been extremely strong and even after his passing, that never faded. If anything, it only heightened. As she grew older, she was able to understand him better and see him through different eyes and while Caroline realised her father wasn’t perfect, the amount of love she carried toward him would always be there and it would always be hers.
She smiled at you, blowing you a kiss which made your smile widen – you continued on like nothing happened as you spoke to the camera, hoping your voice wasn’t giving away the thickness you felt forming in your throat.
While you could honestly speak about your husband for hours, the interview had to come to an end and you were kind of glad it did. All you wanted to do now was fly back to Memphis and spend time in the home that belonged to you and your husband. You were still professional though, talking a little with the crew and thanking everyone before you left the building.
The flight from New York to Memphis was five hours, but on the private plane time flew by fast, which you were thankful for. Despite Caroline not living at Graceland anymore, she decided to stay the night because she could see how emotional today had made you.
“Do you regret doing the interview? Was it too much?” Caroline asked softly as she laid in your bed, looking at you with a soft smile when you slipped under the covers in Elvis’ spot. You hadn’t slept on your own side since the day he passed.
“No, not at all. I love Vogue and I feel honored they asked me,” you smiled as you sat against the headboard, Caroline turning on her side to plant her head in the palm of her hand. “Seeing all the pictures just brought back a lot of memories, more than I thought they would,”
Your daughter smiled, reaching out her hand to you. You slipped your hand in hers, sighing deeply.
“Good ones I hope?”
“Ofcourse. Always good ones,” you told her with a nod of your head, kissing the back of her hand before squeezing it. “Your father and I had our lows as well, but even those memories are dear to me. He really was one of a kind, Care,”
The blonde next to you crawled closer to you, sitting up against the bed as well as she released your hand and linked her arm through yours instead, putting her head on your shoulder.
“He really was,” she whispered, looking at the wedding ring that still sat prettily on your hand. “Do you think he’s watching us?”
“Knowing your father, he’s probably right here with us right now,” you laughed softly, looking at Caroline as she raised her head to look at you with wide eyes.
“What? What do you mean right now?”
The slight panic in her eyes made you laugh harder, shrugging your shoulders as you looked around the room.
“I feel him around me all the time. I’ve gotten used to the feeling of… being watched,” you grinned playfully at her and she whined at the spine-chilling tone in your voice which you used on purpose.
It was true, though. You felt his presence all the time and you had gotten used to it – even though he couldn’t answer you or talk back, you spoke to him all the time when you’d be alone in the house. Before he passed, he promised he’d always be around and you believed him.
“Nooo, you’re joking,” Caroline laughed as she threw a pillow your way, which made you giggle as you caught it and threw it back at her. “I mean I’ve dreamt about him before, but you’re totally fucking with me right now. Dad’s probably too busy stealing the show up there,” your daughter joked as she put the pillow back in place, the light on the bedside table flickering right that second.
She widened her eyes as she immediately crawled over to you, almost planting herself on your lap, which made you only laugh harder.
You were about to tell her to calm down and that she shouldn’t be scared, but a loud bang that rumbled from downstairs actually got Caroline jumping in your lap this time, her arms firmly wrapped around your neck. Now that was something you never heard before and even though you were surprised, you couldn’t stop laughing at your daughter’s actions.
“Let’s go downstairs,” you told her with a giggle as you pushed her off, getting up from the bed. Picking up your robe, you put it on as Caroline shook her head. She wanted to decline and stay in bed, but she also didn’t want to be left alone right now so as you left the room, she quickly run after you.
“Mom, what if it’s actually someone in the house? I’m not dressed to fight!” she whispered harshly as she looked at the dress shirt she stole out of Elvis’ side of your wardrobe, her hands planted firmly on your shoulders while the both of you tiptoed down the stairs.
You laughed softly, easily finding your way through the house in the dark. “No one is here, Care,” you chuckled as you flicked on some lights in the dining room, knowing that Graceland’s security system was tight and nobody was able to come in unless you allowed them to.
The both of you didn’t see anything out of the ordinary at first, until Caroline pointed out the slightly ajar door of one of the cabinets that stood against the wall. You recognized the photobook that laid on the floor, obviously having fallen out of the cabinet.
Or more so, as if someone deliberately put it there.
You walked over to it, picking it up and opening it on the first page which immediately brought a smile to your face. “This was taken on Christmas Eve, you were just one year old,” you told Caroline as you put the book on the table, sitting down. Caroline had seen it already, she had seen all family photo’s, but she loved looking at them.
Her fear faded as she sat down next to you, smiling as the two of you happily turned pages to look at the pictures of all the Christmasses spend together. It was like a warm blanket was wrapped around you and you knew Caroline felt the same, because she had completely forgotten about the light that flickered or the worries of someone breaking into the house.
You wrapped your arm around her shoulder, kissing her temple as she smiled at the picture of her and her father in the snow, along with the snowman they build together. Bright smiles and flushed cheeks – the sight of it warmed your heart.
“Your father will always be here,” you whispered to her as you softly leaned your head against hers, rubbing her arm. “He’s gonna be there with you every step along the way, no matter what you do or where you go. Don’t you ever forget it,”
She sniffed softly, nodding her head as she turned to you to hug you tightly, your hand drawing soothing circles on her back. “I know,” she sighed, laughing softly through her tears. “As long as he doesn’t make the light flicker again, I’m okay with it,”
You laughed as you pulled back a little to look at her, cupping her face to wipe her tears away with your thumbs. “He knows you’ll probably flee your house in the middle of the night so I’m sure he won’t,”
She chuckled as she nodded, rushing a hand through her hair as you let her go.
“And he’s right. If that would’ve happened to me if I was at my place, I’d probably run onto the streets screaming,”
You bet she wouldn’t, but you still laughed at her words. You were sure Elvis would let her know he was with her in other ways, but you wouldn’t mind at all if he made the lights in your room flicker or whatsoever.
It gave you comfort knowing he was still there, popping in whenever he pleased.
After drinking some tea and looking at some more pictures, you and Caroline decided to go back upstairs and sleep away the rush of emotions the both of you went through today.
You fluffed your pillow a little, laying down after you turned the light on your side off. Caroline sighed happily, reaching for the light on her side – once again, it flickered before she had the chance to turn it off.
“Seriously, Dad?” she deadpanned, moving closer to you again instead of turning the light off like she planned to.
You laughed, shaking your head in amusement as you reached over to the lamp, switching it off.
“Give the girl a break, El,” you chuckled, laying back down. Caroline was immediately pressed against your side, pulling the blankets up to her chin.
Just like when she was a little girl, you played with her hair to make her drift off into a slumber. While she could be a tough one with a big mouth, you didn’t care that she still liked to be babied a little at twenty nine years old.
She would always be your and Elvis’ little girl and that was your most beautiful achievement.
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